This Present Pleasure
by DreamsofBeauty
Summary: Christine turned back to be with Erik the day after that fateful night, but he was already gone. Nine years later the pair meet again, each very differant people. Will they be able to break down the barriers and find love again?
1. A Painful Memory

**London, 1890**

Mary knocked softly on Madame Carpentier's door, and to her relief there was no response. Timidly opening the door, she peeked into the room before entering. Although usually Madame Carpentier was the sweetest soul imaginable, gentleman callers always left her in a black mood, irritable and depressed.

Despite her sweet nature, Madame Carpentier was somewhat of a mystery, even to her servants. She disappeared for hours or even days—sometimes no one saw her leave. When discussing her mysterious behavior, as they often did, the servants came up with several fantastic explanations, but in the end they just attributed it to her French origins—everyone knew the French were odd.

The butler, Brooke, was perhaps the only servant in Madame's confidence—but he never lowered himself to gossiping with the other servants.

Mary sighed as she picked up the pieces of clothing strewn about the room. Madame usually left right after she had "enjoyed" a gentleman's company, and she insisted that the room be back to its customary order by the time she returned. She wished no evidence of her activities to remain. Sometimes this was quite irritating, since Madame was hardly ever here when she was _not_ entertaining a gentleman.

Sir Perry, Madame's new protector, was quite a lusty gentleman with no wife to hide his mistress from, so he visited Madame frequently—much more than she liked.

Of course he _was_ extremely generous to her—men paid lavishly in order to enjoy Madame's skilled charms. And Madame was no ordinary mistress; unlike others she insisted her protectors visit her in her own house in an unfashionable quarter of town, instead of allowing them to lease her a house in a more modish part of London.

One of Madame's first lovers had paid for her to have this house built, and, if rumor was to be believed, she had overseen the design herself—a very unusual undertaking for a lady. The end result was a perfectly elegant house, but it was hardly extraordinary, and Mary often wondered why Madame insisted on living here.

Shaking her head, Mary gave one last tug to the bedspread before leaving the room.

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**Paris, 1881**

"Christine!"

An urgent voice pierced my clouded mind, jerking me out of the shocked daze I had been in ever since we left in the boat. Searching for the voice, I looked up vaguely and discovered the face of Raoul, but I did not respond to him.

In the distance I could hear the angry voice of the mob as it searched for Erik.

Erik!

Was I really leaving him? Had he really told me to go?

Back there he had seemed frightening, mad even, but as I had gazed into his eyes the remembrance of a gentle, loving angel had stirred the love, yes the love, in my heart to fight with the fear gripping my confused mind.

Hoping to reveal my loving angel once again, I had kissed him, sincerely and passionately. And I had! For a moment he had seemed like my angel of old.

But then, just as I was accepting that I would never leave him, he had ordered me to go. And between my own confused thoughts, Erik's shouting, and Raoul's insistent grasp on my hand I had allowed myself to be led into the boat and carried away, away from my angel. What had I done!

Abruptly I turned and looked back, "Raoul, I have to go back! We can't just leave him there to mercy of the mob!"

"Christine, No! If anyone can take care of himself it's the Phantom. You are the one I'm worried about. We have to leave now!"

With that he jerked me out of the boat, dragging me up the stairs.

At first I struggled against him, pulling back. But almost immediately I realized we could never reach Erik in time and that even if we did, I would just hinder him.

So I relented and directed Raoul to my dressing room, a far easier route than the way Madame Giry had shown him.

We left the Opera Garnier stealthily and Raoul took me to his town house saying, "It's just for one night Christine. I shall put you in a hotel tomorrow, but tell no one you stayed here, it could ruin your reputation."

I did not respond to him. After all, I knew I was only staying there one night. I had made my decision, I would find my angel and if he would still have me, I would marry him.

The next morning I woke up, and immediately remembered my task. Anxiety filled my heart, fear settling in my stomach like a bad meal. What if I couldn't find him? But I would not, could not, allow myself to think of that, right now all I could do was return to the Opera Garnier.

Since I was too much of a coward to tell him in person, I wrote Raoul a note explaining my decision and ordering him not to follow.

Poor Raoul! I had loved him, but as a dear friend. When I had first seen him again he had reminded me of a happier time—of innocence and childhood—of a time when my Father was still alive.

Then, as my angel seemed to change into some frightening, unknown creature, Raoul had been there to hold me. Raoul had been so . . . safe. But now I realized safe would not make me happy.

The moment my lips had touched Erik's I had known the difference between his kiss and Raoul's. Erik's kiss had caused me to tremble with passion and fierce longing, while Raoul's kisses had merely been pleasant caresses. Raoul's kisses had certainly never made me feel the way Erik's had, and even if I never saw Erik again I could not stay with Raoul. The memory of that one kiss would haunt me forever.

But I would find Erik. I could not imagine any other possibility.

I had passion, but I had no money, so I walked to the Opera Garnier—head down, eyes on the sidewalk. When I reached the Opera I gasped at the wreckage I saw there, and yet it was not nearly as bad as it could have been.

Coughing, I made my way through the charred hallways, towards my old dressing room. Once I was in the dressing room, I went straight to the mirror, my heart pounding as I began the search for the mechanism that would open it.

At first I forced myself to be calm, but soon my lack of success set my hands trembling as my motions grew more and more frenzied.

After what seemed like an eternity to my nervous mind, my fingers pressed down and the mirror slowly opened.

With a sigh of relief, I entered the passage and traveled down once again. The passage was, no doubt, just as long, dark, and dusty as before, but it seemed so much longer now, so much worse.

Finally I reached the lake and my eyes searched the darkness for the boat, but with a sinking heart I realized that the mob had either destroyed the boat or taken it to the other side, for I did not see it.

I sank to the ground with a frustrated sob as I contemplated crossing the lake without a boat. I could hardly swim across!

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a slight movement; there in the shadows was the boat. With a glad cry, I waded into the lake and pulled the boat to shore.

Unsteadily, I managed to stand at the end of the boat, before awkwardly trying to pole her along, attempting to imitate Erik's graceful movements.

By the time I reached the other side, my arms ached and my hands felt blistered, but I did not care. All my attention was focused on finding Erik, and before the boat even hit the wall I cried out his name.

My shout reverberated off the walls, mocking me in its abundant solitude.

Despite the silence, I refused to believe Erik was not there, and jumping out of the boat I ran up the shore and through the gaping chasm that was the doorway to Erik's home, the door hanging haphazardly on its hinges.

Once inside, I was greeted with frightening disarray, and I ran from room to room in a mad rush, tripping over broken furniture as I frantically called out Erik's name over and over again.

But there was no answer. Finally I abandoned my futile cries, collapsing in an exhausted, sobbing heap upon the floor.

When I awoke later to the unfriendly stone floor of Erik's home, I had no idea how long I had slept. In the darkness of Erik's house there was but one way to tell the time, and the mob had destroyed even that, stalling the face of the mantle clock in a broken reminder of the night before.

I could only be certain of one thing, that Erik was not there, but perhaps he would come back. I resolved to stay in his underground house and wait for him. I did not know how long I would wait, but wait I would.

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**London, 1890**

My mind wandered as James, my business partner, droned on and on—talking of potential projects, and the success we had already achieved.

In celebration, James had convinced me join him for luncheon at his club, and we were now walking home. The crowded streets and James' cheerful tone of voice were doing nothing for my mood.

I should have been happy, elated even, considering we had just finished the construction of a magnificent home in the English countryside. However, the completion of a project always left me feeling empty and dissatisfied. When I was working on a project I had something to live for, something to pour my smoldering energy into. Now I felt hungry, like a wolf searching for its prey. And my wandering gaze lit upon a forbidden piece of game.

Walking down the street arm in arm with a gentleman I did not know, was a lady I knew very well indeed.

At the sight of Christine, my heart seemed to seize up, but I ignored it—reminding myself that this woman had almost caused my destruction once before. Quickly though, almost reflexively, I asked James:

"Tell me James, who is that beautiful woman in the pink dress."

Glancing over to the other side of the street, where Christine and the unknown were lingering in front of a jewelry shop, James' face lit up in recognition.

"I see you have discovered one of London's most beautiful and most sought after ladies, Madame Elise Carpentier."

Elise? That was definitely Christine across the street; her face was branded upon my soul.

"Sought after? Is her husband dead then?"

"No one knows of the whereabouts of the mysterious Monsieur Carpentier, but it matters not—Madame is not in the business of marriage."

"What?" I almost shouted.

"Whoa! Erik you alarm me. One would think you were Monsieur Carpentier."

"I am sorry, I was merely shocked. I should have thought that such a lady would have secured her fortunes through marriage long ago."

"Indeed? Well, if you wish to be introduced to Madame I could do the honors tonight—if you accompany me to the Charlbury's soiree." James said, eyes twinkling at the opportunity to lure his reclusive business partner to a social function.

But I could not share in his amusement, my mind was whirling, and I could feel the familiar rage start to rise. Was this what she had chosen over me? I felt an uncontrollable urge to see her, to discover more about her current situation.

"Well James, I think I am feeling quite social tonight. I do believe I will accompany you to that soiree." I replied, attempting to sound nonchalant.

James grinned, "I see the lady has bowled you over, I must warn you though, she cares for naught but money. You must have very deep pockets indeed to win her over. I will pick you up at your lodgings at ten. Here is my street, 'til then my friend."

As James turned down his street, I continued on my way—dark thoughts churning in my mind. I must have looked a fearsome sight to any passerby, the stormy expression on my face made ten times more alarming by the mask I wore.

So it was Madame Carpentier was it? And she sold her favors to the highest bidder. I chuckled humorlessly; well, I could certainly afford it.

If that is what she wanted I could have obliged long ago—perhaps she had not known what I was worth. Had she left her Vicomte as well? Perhaps his fortunes had taken a turn for the worse.

Question upon question seethed in my mind. I could not answer them now, but soon I would see Christine again and then, by God, I would have my answers.

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(a/n) No offense to the French . . .I love the French, but 19th century British servants did not(a/n)


	2. We Meet Again

London, 1890, Christine

Entering my bedroom, I hurriedly walked over to the bell and pulled it imperiously, summoning my dresser, Miss Trent. Belle, my eight year old daughter, had been talkative tonight, and I had lost track of time at dinner, I would be late if I did not hurry. I glanced at the clock, it was already nine and Sir Perry was to pick me up for the Charlbury's soiree by a quarter 'til ten. Trent entered the room with a disapproving look upon her face; she was an excellent dresser and hated to have her work hurried. However, she worked quickly and soon my hair was done up—ringlets becomingly framing my face and jeweled flowers adorning my head. I was attired in an elegant evening gown of Chantilly lace with an under-dress of golden satin. I fondly smoothed down my skirt, I had always loved this dress, since, as I was often told, the gold brought out the highlights in my chestnut hair and the golden flecks in my brown eyes. I heard a discreet knock on the door, and Brooke, my trusted butler, informed me that Sir Perry had arrived. I quickly pulled on my long evening gloves, picked up my fan and reticule, and departed for yet another dreaded evening function.

As Sir Perry and I traveled to the soiree he regaled me with gossip, and I played my part. While coquettishly laughing at his jokes and batting my eyelashes at him, I allowed my mind to wander. I was growing very weary of my lifestyle, and hoped that I could soon leave it behind. Although I was steadily acquiring a substantial nest egg, it was not enough. I was determined that once I quit this life, I would never return to it again. This was practical as well as personal—not only did I despise my work, but I was in my prime. I was at the height of my beauty, and gentleman paid lavishly for my charms—but the older I grew the less I would earn. I had to make sure I earned enough now, and then perhaps I could retire to a cottage somewhere with only Belle for company. Belle was my reason for being, the reason I continued to torture myself with this profession. I was determined that she should not want, ever, and that she would never, ever be reduced to selling her body—even as a highly valued mistress. I did not know how much longer I would continue, it depended largely on the generosity of my protectors. The jewels I received were the main source of my income; I smiled secretively, I often wondered if society realized that most of the jewels I wore were paste. Oh, they had been real enough once, but as soon as my arrangement with a gentleman ended I immediately sold my jewels and had paste copies made.

"My dear, whatever are you smiling about," Sir Perry asked peevishly, aware my mind had wandered.

"I was just thinking of how jealous all the ladies are going to be," I purred. "They will be sick with envy, seeing how much you adore me."

"Yes," Perry replied, preening himself. "They will be quite jealous won't they; especially when they see the gewgaw I just gave you."

My hand went up to my neck, and I truly smiled. The massive diamond necklace had to be worth thousands of pounds.

The carriage pulled up to the Charlbury's townhouse, and we alighted. I mentally prepared myself to become the simpering, shallow creature I hated so much. Just another mask, I reminded myself, just another mask.

Once inside, Sir Perry and I made the rounds together briefly, before he left me to join a group of male friends. I was soon surrounded by my own group of "friends" and admirers, and had settled into another night of deadly boredom, when I heard the voice of Mr. James Whittaker behind me, a man I actually liked. I turned to greet him, a sincere smile on my face, and beheld the visage of another man, another time. Erik stood before me, just as tall and menacing as I had remembered, and I do believe that for a moment I thought I was dreaming. But in all my dreams Erik had never appeared in the crowded drawing rooms of an insipid society function—I knew this was no dream. My stomach turned into a mass of nerves, and countless feelings and thoughts vied for attention in my mind. But my smile never wavered, years of pretense came to my rescue, and I greeted Mr. Whittaker in what I hoped was a calm voice.

"Mr. Whittaker it is so good to see you again. How have you been?" I said extending my hand.

He took my hand and pressed a light kiss upon my glove before replying, "My dear Madame I am doing very well, very well indeed. You look charming, as usual. May I present my friend, Mr. Erik Legard?"

Smiling brightly, I said, "A pleasure Mr. Legard," and experienced a brief feeling of satisfaction at my composure.

Then suddenly I remembered that physical contact was required. Trembling, I subdued a wild urge to flee, and extended my hand. For a second, forever, it was suspended in the air, before he took it in his own and raised it slowly to his lips, his golden eyes burning into my own. As his lips met my hand, an electrical current seems to possess my body, and I was surprised that the rest of the room did not turn and look.

Then he spoke, and the sound his voice was almost too much to bear—that beautiful, melodic, intoxicating voice that had once held me under a spell.

"The pleasure, Madame, is all mine," Erik replied, infusing a wealth of meaning into that single sentence.

The tension between us thickened, if it was possible, and I felt unbearably oppressed. The world started to recede, and I dizzily lurched, but was swiftly supported by Mr. Whittaker.

"Madame, are you well?" he asked in a concerned voice.

Thinking only to escape, I raised my hand to my forehead and replied, "I have the headache and I fear the heat has made me dizzy. I am sorry gentleman, but I do believe I will seek out Sir. Perry and depart."

Without even waiting to hear any response, I turned and determinedly made my way through the crowd to Sir Perry's side, my back burning under the pressure of Erik's mocking gaze. When I reached Sir Perry I grasped his shoulder, as if I was drowning and he was the lifesaver.

"My dear," I said "I am afraid I am quite unwell, and I would like to leave."

He turned to me, and I must have looked a sight indeed, for he frowned immediately, "Elise, you are dreadfully flushed. Do not worry, I will order the carriage at once."

Thankfully I went to the front hallway to await Sir. Perry. He soon came, looking even more distraught.

"I say, my dear, as I was leaving I saw a very strange fellow in a mask scowling at me dreadfully. I have never met the man before, and yet I do believe he would have killed me if he could have."

"How strange," I replied "I don't know who you are talking about. Surely I would have noticed a man in a mask." Swiftly I changed the subject. "Perry, I am feeling unwell, but I feel guilty at spoiling all your pleasure. I can ride home by myself. Perhaps it would be best," I said meaningfully, "then I could rest fully."

"Don't worry, I will not stay with you my dear, but if you wish I will still escort you home." Perry replied courteously.

"No, no I will be fine," I said. "Enjoy yourself."

"Alright," he agreed cheerfully, walking me out to the carriage and handing me in. "Rest well my dear, and I will pray for a full recovery."

As he turned and walked away, I allowed my body to slouch with relief into the luxurious lining of the carriage. However, the relief soon dissipated, leaving me feeling depressed and disgusted. I was disgusted with myself, I knew what I was—a well paid whore—and Erik must know as well. How could he not? The whole of London knew. The woman he had once loved was gone; she had been cruelly crushed by life years ago. When I was the ingénue Erik had loved me for my innocence, but now all he could feel towards me was disgust and contempt—especially since he did not know. . . . But I would not make excuses for myself; I did not need to make excuses. What I had done was not wrong. I could have saved my virtue, worked at some little dressmaking shop, barely earning a pittance. Not enough to support myself and a child, and certainly not enough to make sure she did not succumb to the inevitable profession of impoverished women. Well, I had become an expensive whore so my daughter need not be a two-bit whore, and I had no regrets.

Yet when Erik's eyes had looked into my own, they had pierced my soul, and suddenly I had felt the overwhelming disgust and hate that I imagined he felt for me. I could not bear it. Once I would have given my very soul to see Erik again, but that time had passed and if I could just achieve freedom for Belle and myself I would be happy. In truth, I was lying to myself—but I knew there was no use in dreaming of impossibilities.

I laughed bitterly; the only good outcome of this encounter was that Perry would not visit me tonight. Thank God for that! In addition to the fact I found no real pleasure in such encounters, I could not imagine taking Perry to my bed when I had just seen Erik. When I had first begun my profession Erik's eyes had haunted me; now, nine years later, just when I thought I had succeeded in suppressing my memories Erik had returned to haunt me.

I was jerked out of my reflections, when the carriage pulled to a stop and the footman opened the door for me. I allowed myself to be helped out, and, although I felt ready to collapse, walked steadily into the house. It was quite early for me to be home, just eleven thirty; however, like a good butler, Brooke did not betray any surprise.

"I have the headache," I said by way of explanation, "Please tell Trent that I will not be needing her services tonight."

"Very well, Madame," Brooke replied, countenance unmoved, despite my unusual request. But then perhaps the servants were used to my eccentric ways by now.

Feeling the need for fortification, I went to the library and poured myself a glass of sherry out of the every ready decanter. Sinking into one of the library's comfortable wing backed chairs; I sipped my sherry and thought back.

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Paris, 1881

I had been waiting for Erik for almost a week now. At breakfast, I had finished the last morsel of food, and it was now dinner time. My stomach growled demandingly, and I knew that tomorrow I would have to make some decisions. Decisions had never been my forte.

While I had been waiting for Erik I had not been idle; oh the first day I had simply lain on the bed in my room. But boredom had driven me to find occupation, and I had started the business of cleaning up Erik's trashed home. Erik's house was really quite normal, despite its odd location, containing a kitchen, dining room, parlor, library, Erik's bedroom, my Louis-Philippe bedroom, and a spare bedroom as well. There was also the music room, and although the existence of such a room was not odd, the organ dominating the room did make it rather strange. I had managed to clean up much of the mess, but many things were broken or ruined. Surprisingly the organ had not been touched; perhaps the mob had been deterred by its usual sacred position in a church.

That night I was feeling particularly despondent, as I began to acknowledge the reality that Erik might not return. I had thrown myself into cleaning up Erik's home in an almost feverish manner, and in combination with a lack of food, I was quite exhausted. I lay sprawled out on the divan in library, unable to think of anything to do. I could read, but that usually brought back memories of Erik and I reading together, or Erik reading to me in his beautiful voice. I sighed, my gaze wandering to a stack of paper and envelopes I had salvaged lying on the floor. Suddenly an idea came to me, I could write to Erik. Although he would probably never see, it would give me an outlet for my pent up emotions, and if he ever came back and I was gone I could leave letters for him to find. My mood lifted slightly at the prospect of a new occupation, and I swiftly rose and collected paper, envelope, pen, and ink and began my letter. Into that letter I poured my frustration, my love, my hopes, and then a quite mundane description of my activities in the last week. But at the end of it I felt better, and was able to retire for bed without feeling quite as restless as usual.

The next morning I awoke, and my stomach swiftly reminded me of my need for food. Now money was not a problem at all, during my ferocious cleaning I had come across two separate stashes of money Erik must have hidden in case of emergencies. I felt no compunctions at using Erik's money, quite sure he would be angry if I did not use the money. I dressed for the outside world, and, as I been unable to uncover the exit to the Rue Scribe, I made the long journey over the lake and through my dressing room. The shopping trip proceeded without incident, and I returned laden with my purchases. They were numerous and I had had to unload into my dressing room several times in order to buy all I wished. I was determined to make sure that, if necessary, I could survive for months in the underground lair.

A week later, I again entered the outside world, in order to purchase perishables, and a few necessities I had forgotten the week before. Perhaps I looked conscious of the money I carried upon me, or perhaps I looked pretty despite my attempts to blend in, but whatever the reason while I was hurrying through an alley, I spied a disreputable looking man emerging from the shadows—ill intent glittering in his eyes. It was the middle of the day, but the weather was bad, and the darkened clouds increased the shadows of the already dark alley ways. Nervously I glanced around, desperately searching for another human being, but the bad weather had driven most people inside.

As I tried to scurry past him, the man grabbed my wrist and pulled me up against him.

"Now my pretty, just you be cooperative and you won't be hurt. All I wants from you is your money, and maybe a little something else," he murmured into my ear—one hand covering my mouth and the other holding me tight to him.

I started struggling against him desperately as the meaning of "a little something else" sank into my mind. Cursing, he dragged me roughly into an even smaller alley, this one almost pitch black.

"Listen up, I'm willing to be gentle, but if you want it to hurt that's your choice. Trust me girl, it ain't worth dying over."

Shocked, I briefly ceased struggling, and he swiftly pulled out a knife and brought it up to my throat.

"How about me and you have some fun, and we can part ways with no blood. Hhmmm?"

Sensing my capitulation, he sheathed his knife, before starting to grope me. Most of the event I cannot remember at all, but at one point I think I tried to get away earning myself a sharp blow to the face. After that I sunk into numb state of disassociation. Vaguely I was aware that things were happening to a girl in the alley way, but I was not at all sure that girl was me.

He must have knocked me out when he was done, because I awoke later to a hard kick in the ribs. An angry looking woman stood above me, arms akimbo.

"Get up girl, I don't want no whores lying by my back door."

When I didn't move immediately, she kicked me again screaming "I said get up!"

I scrambled to my feet, and stumbled away from her, the only thought in my head was the need to get home. I don't remember most of the journey home, and how I managed to pole that boat across the lake is beyond me, but somehow I ended lying on the floor of the library. At that moment in my life I just wanted die. I was sure I would never move again, and that Erik would return to find my rotting corpse disgracing his library floor.

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London, 1890

Shaking my head, I refused to dwell on the past any longer. Fleetingly I thought to tell him, perhaps he would understand. But I quickly crushed the thought; I did not want Erik's pity. With a sigh, I rose wearily to my feet, exited the library, and slowly mounted the stairs. At least, I thought, I could go to sleep—surely I was too tired for dreams to plague me tonight. Upon entering my bedroom I set the gas lamp I was carrying on the bedside table and turned to begin the process of undressing.

For the second time that night, my shocked gaze absorbed what I thought must surely be a dream. There sprawled out in one of the arm chairs gracing my room, was Erik. His amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, and the shadows prevented me from discerning any expression on his face. At that moment I truly thought I was finally going mad. But then the apparition spoke.


	3. A Deal with the Devil

**Disclaimer: you know the drill.**

(a/n) Much thanks to my reviewers: LostSchizophrenic, forever in a bottle, Leesainthesky. (a/n)

**London, 1890, Christine**

For the second time that night, my shocked gaze absorbed what I thought must surely be a dream. There, sprawled out in one of the arm chairs gracing my room, was Erik. His amber eyes gleamed in the darkness, but the shadows prevented me from discerning any expression on his face. At that moment I truly thought I was finally going mad. But then the apparition spoke.

"Did you think you would be rid of me so easily Christine?" Erik queried, his voice cool and controlled.

I stood stiffly, inwardly fighting my urge to stammer apologetic pleas. Nine years later, Erik still made me feel like a callow school girl, despite my experience. Abruptly, I felt angry. I was not at fault here! I was the victim! I ignored the inner voice telling me he had no way to know that, and succumbed to the demon of anger I had nursed throughout the years. All of the pent up anger I felt towards life, towards society, suddenly spewed out directed at Erik.

"Well I thought it might work, since leaving is exactly what I did last time," I said spitefully. Erik's eyes glowed like angry flames, and I should have felt afraid, but power surged through me.

However, Erik did not erupt like I expected him to. Instead, rising from his chair, he smiled. But it was not a pleasant smile, and I felt shivers run down my spine.

"My dear," he purred, slowly advancing towards me, "perhaps last time you were not aware of all I had to offer you. It was extremely remiss of me not to have informed you of my financial status. However, let me remedy the situation."

"Wh. . what?" I stammered, unable to believe what I was hearing.

Pressing in on his advantage, Erik said, "Simply put my dear, I am a very rich man, and I completely understand your need for money. It is quite delectable isn't it? I am willing to offer you more than other man has ever given you before. However, forgive me if I don't give you jewels, but I believe you would prefer cold hard cash."

"What exactly are you saying Erik?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. My vision was becoming blurred and I almost felt sick to my stomach. So this is what Erik thought of me! That all I cared for was money—and now all he need do was offer me cash and I would be his. But he did not want a wife any longer; oh no, he wanted me to be his whore. I felt as if a sacred memory had been violated. In my memories Erik was still an angel; this man in front of me was the devil!

"Do I need to spell it out for you Christine?" he asked, dangerously close to me now. "In your profession I would have thought it was quite obvious. But if you wish. Since I know I am but a poor deformed creature, I will pay you handsomely to share my bed."

A red mist rose up before my eyes, and before I knew what I was doing my hand flew out towards Erik's cheek. But he was too quick for me. He caught my wrist in his iron grasp, and I winced in pain.

He leaned in very close to me, his eyes glittering behind the mask. "My dear, that was extremely unwise. I might have to lower the amount I am willing to give you."

I wrenched my wrist away from him, and declared, my voice rising on every word. "I would never, ever accept so much of as a penny of such money from you. Why would I lower myself to your bed when I can sleep with gentlemen?"

He flinched as if hurt, and for an instant my heart softened, but he quickly returned to the cold, hard man he had been moments before.

"You are a whore, Christine, and money speaks to you. I shall leave you to ponder your choices. Don't let dignity keep from accepting my terms—it certainly hasn't gotten in your way before."

Donning his hat, he turned and left, leaving me to collapse in a mass of trembling nerves upon my bed. This was crueler than any fate I could imagine. Erik, whom I had loved, coldly offering me the position of his mistress, of his whore! Well I would not take it! No power on earth could force me to accept his offer. I had known what he must think of me, but actually hearing the contempt in his voice, seeing it in his eyes, was devastating. Erik, I whispered, tears coming to my eyes, Oh Erik. Erik was supposed to my angel, not an avenging judge come to sentence me for my sins. Tears were flowing faster now, and I curled up on the bed and gave myself over to the sobs I had been barely repressing. I cried myself to sleep, despair eating away at my soul.

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**Paris, 1881**

I was shuffling my way to the kitchen when it hit me again. A surge of nausea rose in my throat, and I swiftly ran for a basin. For weeks now I had been sick in the morning; at first I had just thought I was ill and that it would pass. Well it hadn't, and now I did not know what to think. In addition to the morning sickness, I had been quite sickly and lethargic, but I just attributed it to my state of mind and residence in a dark, dank cellar. But that didn't explain why I had missed two of my monthly flows, did that happen after you . . . uumm . . . with a man? Abruptly a snippet of conversation I heard between two of the chorus girls came to my mind.

"_Do you think you are with child?"_

"_Well I'm a month late, but I'm irregular sometimes. I took all the precautions, but it's still possible. Oh God, I hope not, my mother would throw me out on the spot."_

"_It's alright, most likely you are just irregular. We can only wait and hope your monthly flow comes soon. But whatever happens, I'm here for you."_

Realization flooded through me, and immediately I felt sick again. Could I be pregnant? My hand flew to my stomach, I didn't feel much fatter. Alright, maybe I had thickened up a bit, but I had attributed that to my lack of activity. I grasped the kitchen counter for support. What was I to do! Maybe I wasn't pregnant. It could just be false alarm. I put it out of my mind. I did not want to think of it, acknowledge that it was more than likely. Instead I focused on another unpleasant thought; soon I would need to go up again. It had been almost two months since the incident, and I had made good use of the stockpile I had acquired just before it, but supplies were running low. I was beginning to understand Erik's dread of the world; horrid people lived up there—but down here held only was sweet solitude.

I told him so in my letters. Yes, I had been writing to Erik, at least once a week. Perhaps it could be considered strange, a little mad even. But it helped me to relieve my tension, and made me feel like I actually had contact with someone. Ironically, I sealed up each letter with Erik's morbid red skull. Now I was the one writing notes!

A couple months passed and I made two successful trips to the upper world. Erik's money was barely depleted; after all, I had only bought food, candles, and a few other necessities.

No, my real concern was my dread suspicion. I had not had my flow since the incident, and I was definitely getting fatter. But it was not until I could no longer fasten my dress that I finally accepted the truth. I was pregnant. I cried; I sobbed; I lay on my bed for days.

As I lay there my mind drifted to a thought that I had not explored before. What would my baby be like? I had not thought of the child as a person before, just a problem. As I let the idea of a new life, a life that was all mine, permeate my brain, I felt a fierce surge of protectiveness shoot through me. A little person was growing inside of me—a person who needed my love and protection.

All my life I had been the dependant one. I had leaned on others for support—refusing to make decisions. Now I realized it was time for me to grow up. I was seventeen years old—many women were married and in charge of a household by now. For the first time, some one became more important than me. Oh, I had loved people before—my father, Erik, even Raoul—but I had never completely put someone else's happiness before my own. I placed both my hands on my stomach, and made a fierce resolution. For the sake of this child I would get up and make a life for myself, I could not continue to wallow in self pity. I focused my mind into listing the things I needed to do.

I needed money. I had enough to last me for a long time, a year even. But even so now I would have to support two people—and I needed a future means of income.

I needed somewhere to have my child. I couldn't have it down here—I had to go somewhere where a midwife could be summoned. But who did I have to go to? Raoul? I laughed bitterly, I could just imagine his reaction. Still, I kept him at the back of my mind. Madame Giry was really the only person I could turn to, and I was not even sure where she was living now. But there was one chance. Madame Giry had a sister, Madame Lenoir, and I had accompanied Madame Giry and Meg to her house once or twice. I knew where she lived, and she probably knew where Madame Giry lived.

What time was it? I no longer had any real concept of time, and really didn't know if it were morning, afternoon, evening, or nighttime. I glanced at the clock—it was five o'clock in the evening. Tomorrow, I thought, I will go and look for Madame Giry tomorrow.

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**London, 1890, Erik**

Nervously, I composed the letter that would make Christine mine. She could hardly fail to accept my proposition—I was offering an ungodly amount of money. Seeing Christine, talking to her again, had been harder than I imagined it would be. Even though I remembered what she had done, what she was doing now, I had still wanted her. She was still beautiful, perhaps even more beautiful. Her youthful prettiness had developed into a more mature beauty. Innocence no longer shone out thorough her eyes, but now those eyes were more insightful, more comprehending of the world around her. She was no longer the gullible young girl that I had tricked before. I could not imagine this woman falling for the Angel of Music. She had not cowered before me; no, throughout the night she had been composed, smooth, angry, and spiteful, but she had not looked afraid.

She had trembled when I kissed her hand. But it had not been fright. No, I was experienced enough now to know the difference between fear and physical attraction. I smiled mockingly to myself, at least I had some small power over her. Power that I fully intended on utilizing.

When I had first seen Christine on the street my immediate impulse had been to question her mercilessly. Cross-examining her until I milked out every action and emotion she had committed and felt since the day she left me. But as the day had gone by I had settled on a different plan. A plan that gave me power over her, and dare I dream it, access to her bed. Her reaction to me at the soiree had only consolidated my plan. I still had power over her, and I could get more power yet. As I made my plans, a mocking voice in the back of my head questioned me incessantly. _Power? Pah, she is the one with power over you. Can't you see that the woman doesn't want you? Don't make yourself that miserable, pathetic creature once again._ But I ignored the voice. This, I told myself, was purely revenge. I would make her mine, and then I would be the one to leave. _Leave? _The voice said with a laugh_. You leave Christine? Never! _Finally, I thought, Christine and I would be over and done with. I no longer loved her. _Ha_. I just needed to complete what I started long ago.

Convinced of my own reasons, I finished the letter, sealed it, and had a boy take it to her house. Paying him generously, I told him to wait for a reply. Now that I had sent the letter I was assailed with doubts. An unbearable restlessness seized me; I simply could not sit around in my hotel and wait for the reply. Grabbing my cloak and hat, I left to go for a walk. It was dusk, my favorite time of day. The sun was just setting, casting a golden glow over the world that reminded me of candlelight. I truly did not like the intense midday sun, but I found the gentle light of dawn and dusk entrancing.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets of London—a dark brooding figure that people left alone. Inevitably I found myself on an intersection that turned onto her street. I stared down it and scowled, I would not go there. Instead I went down one more street, and turned there. I walked along until I came to the house I knew must back up unto her property. Through the trees I could see the back of her house. I glared at it as if it were the root of all my problems.

"Whatever is wrong mister?" a childish voice asked, piercing my reverie.

I looked down, a little girl had climbed onto the gate of the house directly behind Christine's, and was now leaning over it rather precariously.

"Get down from there," I ordered, rather sharply. But the girl seemed unfazed.

"Whatever for?" she asked. "It's my gate."

"You might fall," I replied, in a rather softer tone of voice. As I looked at her, I was suddenly struck by how much she resembled Christine. Riotous chestnut curls dominated her head, framing her heart shaped little face, and big brown eyes stared out at me curiously. She couldn't have been any older than ten.

"I won't fall," she said. "I do this all the time. Why are you standing in front of my gate?" she demanded. "Do you know my mamma? She can't see anyone today you know, she is ill and I have had to be quiet all day long."

"I am sorry to hear that." I replied, "But I don't know your mamma, I was just admiring the lovely roses in your front yard."

"Well," she replied, wrinkling her nose. "You certainly didn't seem to be admiring anything. You had such a frown on your face. My aunt says that if you frown too much your face will get stuck that way."

A slight smile turned up the corners of my mouth, "Well," I said, amused now, "I certainly wouldn't want that to happen."

"Not that I can see much of your face anyway," she said. "Why are you wearing a mask? Are you going to a party?"

"Don't ask too many questions," I replied softly, "Don't you know that curiosity killed the cat?"

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, "My momma is always telling me that, and I always answer that I am not a cat."

"Belllle, Belllle," a voice called from inside the house.

"Oh, it must be dinner time," Belle said, jumping off the gate. "It was nice to meet you mister, but I have to go now."

"It was nice to meet you too Belle," I replied, "Au revoir, mademoiselle."

"Goodbye," she said, before running up the drive and into the house.

Belle, I thought, a fitting name for the little girl. She would certainly be a beauty when she grew older. I sighed, now that Belle was gone, I had nothing to distract me from Christine's reply. I turned around and started back to the hotel. Hopefully she would have sent her answer by now.

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**London, 1890, Christine**

I sat in a chair in my bedroom, trying fruitlessly to read. When I had finally dragged myself to the cottage that morning Antoinette had been waiting for me, and as soon as she saw me she had insisted I lie down. Later, I had persuaded her to let me sit up. I had not told her what had happened yet, but I knew that I would soon have to. She, of all people, would wish to know of Erik's appearance.

Abruptly, I was brought out of my abstracted thoughts by the ringing of the bell. Drat that bell, I always hated when it rang. It was skillfully connected to my other house, my fashionable house where I entertained gentleman, and whenever an important caller or message came Brooke rang to let me know.

Sighing, I put down my book, and went to the mirror. I was not dressed as fashionably as usual, but if it was a caller I would have Brooke inform them I was not at home. I turned to make sure the door was closed, and then pushed the spring in the mirror which allowed it to open. I entered the passage that connected the two houses and descended the steep stairs. This passage ran from my room in this house, the homey cottage, to my room in the other house, the gilded love nest. The stairs were concealed within a chimney, then the passage went underground, and another staircase concealed in the love nest's chimney led up to my bedroom. There was also an entrance to the passage way in the cellars of each house. This passage way was the key to my life. This way I could pretend to be a normal mother to Belle, while maintaining the activities that would eventually buy us freedom. As far as I could tell, Belle had no idea that I lived such a double life, and although I might have to tell her about it one day, I was resolved to preserve her innocence for as long as possible.

I went into my bedroom, and rang the bell for Brooke. He arrived promptly and presented me with a letter on a silver salver.

"This came by message boy, Madame, and he is waiting downstairs for a reply."

"Thank you Brooke," I said, and picked up the letter.

With a bow, Brooked departed the room, and I turned the letter over. It was directed to Madame Carpentier in an elegant flowing script I knew very well. Erik. Trembling, I opened the letter, and smoothed out the paper. Reading quickly, I blanched, the letter was not threatening. No, it was merely a repetition of Erik's offer, but in more specific terms. Staring down at the script, I could hardly believe the sum of money he was offering me. With that money I would never have to work again, I could retire. But no, I could not, I would not. I had been willing to do many things in my career, but I would not _sell_ myself to Erik. Still, the longer I looked at the paper the more seductive the figure became. I was imagining a different home for Belle, a good school, and most importantly freedom. Blessed freedom. _And it would not exactly be unpleasant_ whispered an insidious voice in the back of my head. Sighing, I imagined being able to shed my pretences, living this life was very hard. Perhaps Belle would never have to know about my present profession if I could just quit soon enough. I desperately wished that Belle would never know that I had sold my body.

Looking over at the clock, I realized I had been sitting here for half an hour. There was really no need to wait, I had made my decision. I went to my writing desk and painstakingly wrote a reply to Erik.

_Sir,_

_Upon reflection I have realized that your advances are no longer as repugnant to me as they were last night. I agree to your terms, and shall await your convenience._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_Madame Carpentier_

I smiled, satisfied with the brief epistle. Erik could not fail to perceive the irony of the words.

I rang for Brooke, and had him deliver the letter to the message boy. As I handed him the envelope I suppressed a brief urge to snatch the letter back from him. No, I had committed myself to this course of action, and I would not turn back. I was not the scared little girl I used to be.

(a/n) Thanks for reading. R&R please! (a/n)


	4. The Masqueraders

(a/n) Hey guys sorry it took a few days, my best friend got back from a trip and insisted on monopolizing all my time. A warning, I've been on spring break, I go back to school tomorrow. tear

Thanks to all my reviewers GoldenLyre, erik'sangel527, Crying Wasteland, forever in a bottle, LostSchizophrenic, and Leesainthesky, I love hearing from you.

Leesainthesky: Yes I know Erik was rather harsh, but she wasn't too nice either. Plus, he doesn't know what to think.

Forever in a bottle: Thanks for the comment on more back story. I do need that. I didn't really get to it in this chapter though. . .

erik'sangel527: Yes I love Belle too.

GoldenLyre: Who doesn't have a voice in their head?

Well guys I hope you like this chapter. All from Erik's POV.(a/n)

**London, 1890, Erik**

As the carriage began the journey to Christine's house, my stomach clenched and I imitated the motion with my hands, nervously flexing them. When I had received Christine's note a myriad of emotions had assaulted me—satisfaction, confusion, disappointment, and expectation. Despite my attempts to convince myself she would accept my offer; in reality I had been very unsure about her response. Her refusal two nights ago had been adamant, so I was at a loss in interpreting her acceptance. The obvious conclusion might be that money was really all she cared about. However, my monstrous visage was the unknown factor. Did her acceptance of my offer and all its implications make her more coldhearted, or more softhearted? Did it mean she cared nothing at all for me, or that she cared a little? I really had no idea. I leaned towards the idea that she cared nothing at all for me, how could she? And yet, if she cared nothing for me, but accepted my offer, did that not indicate that she was more coldhearted? That might be the obvious conclusion, but I found myself unable to reach that conclusion. I scowled, already I was softening towards her, and I had not even seen her again. Don't jump to conclusions, I counseled myself, but remember, she is not the innocent young Christine you used to know.

I sighed; I would try and read her tonight. During our last meeting I had hardly been complimentary, and yet her first words to me had wounded me greatly. She had aroused in me a desire to hurt her as much as she had hurt me—past and present. Confusion reigned in my soul. I hardly knew whether I wished to woo Christine with soft words, or show her how it felt to be treated with disdain.

I had chosen something safe for tonight. We were going to see a play at St. James Theatre. When I had first read the words "I await your convenience" I had found myself somewhat at a loss. Now that I had a mistress, I did not know what to do with her. That is, I didn't know the proper etiquette involved. Was there a proper etiquette for seeing your mistress? I had thought of just visiting her, but that had not seemed right. So instead I settled on going to the theater.

The carriage pulled to a stop, and I took a deep breath. Descending from the carriage, I picked up the bouquet of flowers I had brought for Christine. They were lovely flowers, lilies.

I advanced to the door and knocked—firmly and decisively—as if reassuring myself that I was in control. Brooke opened the door, and let me in.

"Madame will be with you in just a moment Monsieur Legard. Please wait here."

I stood in the hallway, awaiting Christine's appearance, sure that this whole process was deliberately constructed to torment men. I suppressed the urge to pace, and forced myself to calmly take a seat on one of the strategically placed chairs in the hallway. There I had a perfect view of the staircase, and there I sat, gazing unremittingly up at the portal through which Christine would emerge.

Minutes later I had my reward. She appeared at the top of the staircase, a vision in light pink. The top of the dress was sculpted to her torso, before it disappeared into the elegant swaths of fabric that constituted the skirt. Behind her, a magnificent train followed her every step, like a devoted worshiper trailing the footsteps of a goddess. Her gorgeous chestnut hair was piled up on her head, and a few perfectly formed curls were allowed loose to frame her face. But what struck me most was the innocent picture she presented, belying the experience I knew she possessed. She looked like a girl about to embark upon her first outing with a suitor, and I did nothing to destroy that impression.

I had stood at the first sight of her, deliberately schooling my features to an unreadable expression, but I could do nothing to restrain the intensity of my gaze.

She approached and dropped a brief curtsey, before extending her hand to me. Her little gloved hand lay in the air like a delicate snowflake that might dissolve if touched. Slowly, deliberately, I took her hand and lowered my head to kiss it, pressing my lips to her glove as it were the warm flesh underneath. Twice I had been granted this privilege, twice I had taken full advantage of it. Triumphantly, I felt a quiver run through her, before I relinquished my hold on her.

"Good evening monsieur," she said softly, her eyes unreadable.

Monsieur! Before the night was over I would once again hear the name Erik upon her lips.

"Good evening Christine," I said, carefully pronouncing her name—as if it were a dish to be savored.

Offering her the flowers, I said, "Here, my dear, these are for you."

"Thank you," she replied, "they are lovely."

"Yes," I agreed softly without taking my eyes off of her, "yes they are." I watched her closely, trying to determine if my words affected her or not.

Suddenly, Brooke appeared as if out of nowhere. I held the flowers for her while he helped her into her cloak, and then relinquished them to Brooke.

"Now, my dear," I said, "let us enjoy a night at the theater." She looked up at me briefly, as trying to determine something, before swiftly looking away.

She preceded me out of the door, and I helped her into the carriage, treasuring every pretext to touch her.

Once in the carriage we rode in silence briefly, before she asked, as if forced into speaking, "So, what are we going to see?"

"_The Masqueraders_ by the playwright Henry Jones Arthur," I replied.

She stiffened, before answering in an expressionless tone, "That seems appropriate."

"Indeed? It is supposed to be quite an amusing piece."

"A farce perhaps?" she asked, her eyes carefully regarding mine.

"No," I replied, my voice low, "never that."

She looked away immediately, and was silent for a few minutes before speaking again.

"Well," she said, "I suppose that you have occupied yourself with something in the last decade."

Several biting retorts about the past rose to my tongue, but I suppressed them. I could not bring myself to shatter the delicate truce we had constructed.

"Yes," I replied, "I have been working as an architect for quite a few years now."

"Oh," she said, "What do you design?"

"A few public buildings, but mostly ostentatious homes for the newly rich."

She gave a little laugh, and my heart tightened, "Poor Erik, have you had to prostitute your art to these upstarts?"

Abruptly her smile faded, the word prostitute no doubt bringing unhappy thoughts to her mind. Swiftly I sought to put her at ease.

"Yes," I said, "but a few of them allow themselves to be guided by me. As for the rest, I do my best, but sometimes the monstrosities they insist on are ridiculous. Imagine, if you can my dear, a garden pavilion constructed to resemble a Greek temple. Not so bad you think? But then my ignorant client insisted I ruin the structure with vulgar figures, the worst of which were several obese cherubs—some as angels and one as cupid. Do you think he even realized the blasphemy he was committing by mixing those two creatures?"

She laughed engagingly in response, and at the sight of her rich brown eyes filled with merriment, I felt as if I accomplished a truly remarkable feat. I felt the carriage slowing, and I realized we must have reached the theater. Briefly feeling disappointed, I waited for a footman to open the door, and we emerged in front of the theater.

As we entered the bright lights of the theater's foyer, and made our way through the richly dressed crowd, Christine nodded to several people, but did not stop. I could feel their speculative glances upon us, and no doubt Christine did as well. As I put my hand to the small her back to guide her to our box, I could feel how tense she was.

We had nearly cleared most of the crowd, when a slickly handsome man effectively stopped our progress by stepping in front of Christine. Immediately I felt my muscles tighten up. The man reminded me of a well oiled snake.

The snake spoke. "Elise, my dear, how good it is to see you."

"Reggie, it's been too long," Christine replied, a dazzling smile pasted on her face. Elise? Reggie? How dare she call him Reggie when she had been calling me Monsieur! Although . . . she had called me Erik once in the carriage. Distracted by this thought I almost missed his next words.

"Indeed," he agreed, "we must have dinner sometime." Dinner, I thought, over his dead body. Christine wouldn't agree to dinner though, at least for now, I had my rights. I waited for her to refuse.

"Certainly," she replied, that damn smile still fastened upon her face. Certainly? No, we'll see, sorry, I won't be in town. Any of these responses would have been better than "certainly."

"I'll be in touch Elise," Reggie said with a sickly smile, "Until then my dear."

As soon as he left, I quickly began walking to our box. How dare Christine even think about having dinner with that snake! As of right now she belonged to me.

"Erik," she said, breathless, "you are walking too quickly for me. We are practically running."

I just glared down at her.

Soon I had her in the box, and immediately I pounced upon her. "What do you think you meant by certainly?" I asked in a cold hard voice.

"Erik," she said with a sigh, "he. . ."

But I interrupted her. "I have paid handsomely for exclusive rights, my dear. You will not be having dinner, or anything else for that matter, with him or any other gentleman."

She stiffened, anger entering her eyes, "Monsieur, you may have rights to a certain extent, but you do not control me. If I wish to have dinner with an old friend, that is my concern."

Why was this serpent of a man so important to her that she would risk my anger to see him again? Fury rose up in me, but I controlled my voice, aware of our surroundings. "Do you think that is wise, my dear, a great deal depends upon your cooperation."

Her eyes narrowed, "Are you threatening me sir?" Then abruptly her demeanor changed, and she gave me a contrite look, saying in a suddenly sweet voice, "Oh Erik, you are right, I don't know what came over me." She sank into a chair, and beckoned for me to sit. "Do you forgive me?"

Slowly I sat in the chair, thrown off guard by this swift change in manner.

She turned to me, laid a hand upon my shoulder, and pouting adorably pleaded, "Do say you forgive me Erik."

Warning bells went off in my head, and feeling considerably out of my depth, I cautiously replied, "I forgive you, I am sorry I lost my temper, but please say you will not see the man."

Her hand slid down to rest on my chest, causing me to draw in a breath, and the honeyed words continued, "Of course I don't have to see that silly boy, why would I wish to see him when I have a man?" She then leaned in and pressed a kiss to my jaw line, and I felt a wave of lust surge through me. I looked speculatively at her, under lowered eyes lids. Just what was going on?

Then she leaned forward, still resting that tantalizing hand upon my chest, and exclaimed, "The curtain is rising! Do pay attention Erik."

Throughout the play she continued her confusing behavior, simpering and flirting, batting her eyelashes, touching me, and, in fact, behaving just like the courtesan I had accused her of being. But she was a courtesan. My temper rose. She was being deliberately provocative. My heat rose as well. Bad word choice. The more she laughed, and seemed to enjoy the production, the worse my mood became. As soon as the last curtain fell I practically dragged her out of the theater.

On the ride to her house she filled my ears with inane chatter about the play, London, the universe. Then as the carriage pulled up, her look turned sultry, and she asked, "Are you coming in Erik."

Was I coming in? That had been my intention, wasn't it? Of course it was. Of course I was going in.

"How could I stay away," I purred, and saw a nameless emotion briefly cross her face, before she resumed her role.

Silently we exited the carriage, entered her house, and she led me up the stairs to her room.

The fire was burning low, casting a golden glow over her chamber. Christine's eyes were dark, her figure enticing, her lips beckoned to me. I could feel the passion course through my veins, but something held me back, and I merely stood there gazing at her.

Christine's eyes glittered, and she said in a blatantly affected manner, "Erik, come now, are you going to make me beg? Must I come over there and rouse you?"

She started advancing towards me, "What is your desire sir? There is much I can do to please a man."

This was not Christine, but yet she wore Christine's body.

Abruptly I reached for her, my lips descending on hers. At first my lips caressed hers, feather light, as I explored this territory, not new, but barely remembered. Gradually I deepened the kiss, my mouth slanting hard over hers, and I pressed my tongue against her lips, seeking entrance. With a little gasp, she opened her mouth, and our tongues collided in a desperate mating dance. The need for Christine was so intense, I felt like I would snap, but yet I pulled away. Gasping for breath, I resisted the temptation to pull her to me again. This did not feel right. I had never intended to do more than kiss her.

Christine gaze up at me, her breathing labored, her eyes filled with doubt, confusion, and, to my gratification, passion.

I reached out and took her hand, turning it over, I pressed a hot kiss on her palm.

"Thank you Christine, for a very pleasurable evening, you have truly made my night."

With that I turned and left.


	5. The Angel of Music

(a/n)As always, thanks to all my reviewers, I really appreciate you guys, you keep me motivated: Crying Wasteland, forever in a bottle, LostSchizophrenic, Leesainthesky, Golden Lyre, unseenhope18, Ziroana.

I just wanted to say there is a straight up Kay quote in here, if you recognize it I will get Belle to give you a kiss, I don't think it will be that hard if you have read Kay(a/n)

**  
London, 1890, Christine**

Lungs heaving, I watched the broad expanse of Erik's back disappear through the doorway. I just stood there, trying to fathom my emotions. My body hummed with need, still reeling from Erik's kiss of moments before. He aroused me as no man ever had. I had been playing with him, determined to be the courtesan he had bought with his money, but the game had turned painfully real.

I should have known better than to play with Erik. He would always win.

The evening had started out well, or badly, depending on how you looked at it. Erik had been charming, smooth, breathe taking—paying me compliments with his eyes, his words. He had seemed in earnest, the sincerity in his voice causing my heart to beat painfully against my chest. It frightened me. I knew I would have no fairytale ending, and didn't want to let my mind believe otherwise, I could only be disappointed.

Then Reggie had spoken to me. Erik, in an almost comfortingly familiar manner, had been jealous, angry. At first I had tried placate him, about to explain that I could not avoid this man, but he interrupted me, reminding me once again that I was rented property.

Oh God, I had been angry, hurt. His words had brought me back to earth with a painful thump. This was how he thought of me, and it would never be any different. Swiftly I had taken refuge in my rage. Erik had paid for a mistress, well he would get one. I had been truly horrible, vulgar and coquettish, my performance exaggerated and provocative.

In the carriage when I had asked him in, my heart had been painfully tight, torn between my desire for this man and the fact that his acceptance would only prove I had been right all along. He had accepted, and I had hardened my heart, a whore was all he wanted after all.

But then he had left. He had kissed me and left. What did it mean? I laughed bitterly. Was my world so twisted that I looked for affection in a man paying for my services? But Erik was no ordinary man.

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**Paris, 1882, Christine**

The pain coursed through me, and I vaguely heard an urgent voice in the distance.

"Push, just one more push."

No! I was in pain.

"Come on Christine, push."

Fine! I pulled strength from some unknown resource, and pushed with all my might. More pain, and then, abruptly my body relaxed, and the tension started receding.

"Good job Christine. You have a beautiful baby girl."

My baby, my soul, my salvation, the very beating of my heart, had finally arrived.

The angel's raucous cries filled the room, the sweet sound filling me with happiness.

I felt a hand on my forehead, and my misted gaze took in the face of Madame Giry. My hand reached up for hers, and grasping it I asked, "How can I ever thank you?"

Madame Giry smiled down at me, the expression softening her habitually serious face. When she smiled she reminded me of the Madonna—a beatific glow radiating from her visage. Over the last few months she had certainly resembled that hallowed lady, intervening in my life, caring for me like a daughter. 

Returning the pressure of my hand, she replied, "No thanks are needed Christine. You are as a daughter to me, and your child will be like my grandchild. Now you need to rest."

Weakly I asserted, "I want to see my daughter."

"You will in just a minute, she must be bathed and clothed first. Now relax."

Obediently I leaned back against my pillow, awaiting my angel. I was softly dozing when they brought her to me later. Eagerly I reached out for my child. I took her in my arms, treasuring the feeling of holding her precious body. Gazing down at her pink little face, I once again felt a surge of protectiveness wash over me. I would do anything for this child, anything.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Erik**

Moodily, I rose from my piano, I could get nothing done. Thoughts of Christine plagued me endlessly; both my music and my architecture eluded me.

Looking out the window, I saw the soft glow of the setting sun. I would go for a walk.

As I strode through London, I gave into the thoughts of Christine. The woman was so damn confusing. One moment she refused me, the next she gave in. She was self conscious and sincere, and then abruptly turned brazen and artificial. But the passion, surely I had not mistaken that. Had she truly responded to me in that manner, seeming just as needy as I was, or was it her practiced artifice? After all she had years of experience.

I turned a corner, and realized I was on the little street behind Christine's house. Thankful for the distraction, I remembered miniature Christine from days before. As I drew near her house, I could hear a sweet, childish voice singing the nonsense lyrics children so often create. Soon the garden came into view, and I saw Belle running around, arms outstretched singing her little song. I smiled to myself, whatever was the child doing?

"Do you think you could teach me to fly, mademoiselle?"

She stopped, and looked around, startled; when she saw me she gave a little smile.

"You wish to fly?" She shook her head, a twinkle in her eye, "I am afraid I cannot help you. Only angels can fly."

"Oh," I said, "And are you an angel?"

"Oh yes," she replied in a secretive tone, "but I am not just any angel, I am the Angel of Music."

A little shock ran through my system when I heard those words, memory upon memory invaded my mind, and were swiftly banished. Although not common, this was a tale parents sometimes told their children, and there was nothing unusual about the fact that Belle knew the story.

"The Angel of Music?" I queried cautiously, "And just what, oh great angel, are your powers."

"Why," she said, her voice filled delight, "I come to good children and give them the gift of music. After I have visited them, they are so talented that everyone knows they must have been visited by an angel."

I gave a laugh, "Do you believe in this angel Belle?"

She looked back at me seriously, "Oh, of course not, I am just pretending. Mama is very careful to tell me what is real and what is pretend. She says it is dangerous to think that make-believe is real."

I returned her solemn look, "Your mother is very wise. It could be very dangerous."

I regarded her speculatively. Just who was this child who resembled Christine and spoke of the Angel of Music? 

Curious, I asked her, "What does your father do child?"

"Oh," she answered, "my father is with the angels, he died before I was born."

"I am very sorry," I said sincerely, my father had also died before I left my mother's womb.

"It's alright," she answered, "my mother tells me all about him. He was a great man."

"Indeed," I encouraged, "What was he like?"

Her eyes lit up as she began to tell me, "He was a great musician. He composed marvelous songs, even an opera. Mother says that he had the voice of an angel. She says they used to sing together."

My heart tightened as an eerie feeling started to settle around me.

"That's very nice," I replied, "he sounds like he was a great man."

"Oh but there is more," she assured me, her pride obvious, "He was a great architect too. He designed beautiful buildings. He even built a palace once. Not only that, but he could do magic, and make things disappear. It was all a trick of course. But he could make it look real." She sighed, her gaze wistful, "Mother says that he was very strong, and that he could have protected us from anything. She says even now he is watching us from heaven."

My mind was whirling and my stomach felt very strange indeed. I broached one final question.

"What was his name?"

"His name was Erik."

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Paris, 1881, Erik  
**  
The mirror shattered, and I disappeared into the welcoming darkness, the need to escape the mob too great for me to give in to the anguish crushing my soul. Blindly I walked down my escape route, my muscles mechanically moving me towards safety, my mind numb. Abruptly, my brain was startled into thought as I felt my legs meet with resistance. Blankly I stared down into the darkness, my eyes slowly interpreting the crates that blocked my progress. Recognizing my supplies, I walked around them and collapsed upon the ground.

I wanted to die, there really was no further point to life, but yet I had evaded the mob and sought safety. My bloody instinct for survival didn't care what my heart was feeling; it only knew the business of physical preservation. Oh God, why did my body fight to live, when my soul had withered up and died within me?

Christine had left me—rode away in the boat with that damned boy. I could still feel her lips upon mine, the gloriously new sensation of her mouth moving against mine had shocked me to the core. I had been deprived of human touch all my life. No woman had ever kissed me, touched me like that before. Yet Christine had done so despite by exposed deformity. Unfaltering, she had joined our two bodies at that one tenuous point. I had been too shocked to respond to the contact I was receiving, and Christine had drawn away, her eyes tenderly looking into mine. Then miraculously, she had kissed me again, this time with something I hesitatingly identified as passion, and if I had not know better, longing.

That kiss had disarmed me. I knew then I could not force this girl to stay with me. I did not want her unwilling company, but she could choose to stay.

Yes, I had shouted at them to leave, but she must have known I would have joyfully accepted her if she had chosen . . . me. But that would never happen, no, she had not protested, gladly fleeing the darkness with her perfectly formed Vicomte.

I should have known that kiss was only artifice designed to buy her freedom. No woman could actually wish to touch me in that fashion.

For as long as I live, no woman will ever look on me with love.

God, how I wanted to die.

Angrily I fought my body's demands. Stubbornly I lay upon the floor for three days, struggling against the instinct to reach out and eat the food that lay close by, enclosed in the crates.

My mind raged inside my motionless body, disunity filled my thoughts. _Why, why are you doing this?_ I questioned one moment. _For some woman who never loved you?_ I loved her, I replied defiantly. Without her love I might as well die. _Don't be stupid, she isn't worth it. All she cared for was for money, position, and appearances anyway. She abandoned you to rot in this dark dungeon. How can you mourn such a creature?_ Feebly, my love for Christine fought back; how can I blame her for wanting to live in the light? I argued. She just wanted a normal life.

But the human being is perversely resilient, and in order for me to survive, my love could not. Mercilessly, my mind abused Christine, until I was convinced she was faithless and shallow. My love was buried deep in my mind, locked in a trunk and sunk to bottom of my ocean of thoughts.

Eventually I ceased fighting the hunger that ravenously demanded satisfaction, and sought my food. I ate.

Now the worst of my despair had left me, I was denied the numbness that had allowed me to ignore my uncomfortable surroundings. I had to leave here. I shuddered at the thought of going above, of living in that cruel world, but I knew there was no going back.

I got up to leave, wondering what I would do with myself. My restless thoughts provided the answer, I would travel. I needed no home right now. I would acquire a horse, and ride wherever my fancy took me.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Christine**

I was abruptly jolted out of my dreams, as the weight of a small body landed on top of me. I shrieked indignantly and reached out for the source of my rude awakening. It giggled and squirmed away from my grasp, but I managed to grab its ankle and hauled it atop me, before turning it over and ruthlessly tickling it into submission.

"Stop," Belle gasped out, laughing helplessly. "I give, I give."

"That's what you get, you little imp, for awakening your mama from her blessed sleep."

"Sorry," she said unrepentantly, before snuggling up close to me on the bed.

Lovingly I looked down at my eight year old daughter; already she was growing too old for my comfort.

She began to excitedly tell me about various things she had done and discovered—Informing me that she had found evidence of a fairy at the bottom of the garden, and fully intended on laying in wait for it.

Indulgently I listened to her, Belle and I loved our little games of make believe.

Suddenly she was quiet. Then she said haltingly, "I saw a very strange man the other day mama."

"Oh?" I queried.

"He was wearing a mask."

I sat up abruptly, "What! Where did you see him?"

"He walked past our house, that's all."

"Did you speak to him," I asked sharply.

"No. . .no, I didn't."  
I gave a sigh of relief.

"Listen Belle, if you ever see him again, you must not speak to him. In fact, come back into the house immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes mama," she replied in a small voice.

"Good," I said, "Now I think its time we had some breakfast. Now go help your Aunt in the kitchen and I will get dressed."

She obediently arose and left. As I dressed I reflected on the close call we had almost had. True, even if she spoke to Erik, he would have no way of knowing I was her mother, but I did not want to take any chances. Erik . . . it had been two days since I had heard from him. Two days since that night.

I firmly put him from my mind, and prepared to go downstairs to enjoy my breakfast. As I was leaving I saw a little pile of letters on my dresser; I had brought them from the other house the night before without looking at them. Oh well, I would read them after breakfast.

After I breakfasted and dealt with a few household chores, I came back up the stairs to read my correspondence.

The top letters were a few trifling bills and some invitations. As I reached the last letter I saw the script with a sinking heart. Reggie. I had hoped the blackguard had just been trifling with me, playing with my emotions, that night at the theater. It seems he had had more concrete plans.

I nervously opened the letter and read the contents.

_My darling Elise,_

It amused me to see you at the theater with another man my dear. Have you jilted poor Perry already? Whoever was that strange man you were with? Well, whoever he is I am sure he is very rich. He must be very generous indeed for you to change partners so quickly. I would love for you to share some of that wealth my dear. A couple thousand pounds will do.

Please don't be stingy. I might find myself being a little too generous with the information I know about you. We would never want that to happen. Don't make this unpleasant my dear. And I absolutely insist you meet me for dinner. I really won't be denied. I do so love to hear about your life. How does Friday next sound? If there is a better time do write and tell me.

Your Obedient Servant

Reginald Grantham

Rage and helplessness washed through me. I had thought he was done with his blackmail; he hadn't contacted me in a year. But it would seem I was not free of him yet. I felt so pathetic, but there was nothing I could do. I would just have to give in to his demands.

(a/n) Now listen, Erik is NOT Belle's fathershe is a result of her mother's rape. I just wanted to make sure that was not in doubt. Please R&R. (a/n)


	6. Confide in Me

(a/n) Hi everyone, this site has been giving trouble, or else this would have been up earlier. If the troubles continue you can check out this story at the aria archives, link is on my profile, My user name and the story title are the same: dreamsofbeauty, This Present Pleasure.

Ok the quote from Kay last time was "For as long as I live, no woman will ever look on me with love." Belle smooches unseenhope18 on the cheek

As always, I love my reviewers! You guys are awesome.

Breedaberry: I am sorry you were confused. I must not have made the situation clear enough. I've probably confused everybody. Christine lives in two houses connected by an underground passage (she had to learn something from Erik). They back up on each other. The first one, which I dubbed "the love nest", is where she entertains gentlemen. The second, the cottage, is where she lives with Belle. She has the passageway so that Belle will not be involved in her courtesan activities. So although Erik knew Belle lived in a house just behind "the love nest" he didn't know Christine lived there. As to what his reaction will be now, you will just have to find out.

Ziroana: I am glad you like the parts from 1881, I must admit that sometimes I will skip flashbacks myself.

Crying Wasteland: Yes Erik was, and still is the perfect father for Christine's child. gives a happy sigh while thinking of Erik

LostSchizophrenic: Yes, Christine very much wishes Erik was Belle's father. Seems like she is playing a little make-believe here.

Amanda17: Thank you, and welcome to the story.

Okay guys, a lot of my description of Erik in this chapter is based on the Kay version, and there is one stray lyric from ALW.

Now I give you a beautiful quote about my favorite man, whom I fell in love with all over again while writing this chapter:

"A powerful sexuality informed his every gesture. Curbed and leashed, expressed in the enormous sensuality of his hands, this sexuality gripped every audience and made him a uniquely compelling performer." –_Phantom_, Susan Kay (a/n)

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**London, 1890, Erik**

_His name was Erik_

Those words reverberated through my head, and more than an hour later they still had not lost their shock value.

I had been wandering London, trying to sort out the implications of Belle's revelation. The poor child, she had had no idea who she was talking to.

I had come to only two conclusions: Belle was Christine's daughter, and she had described _me_ as Belle's father.

How had Christine gotten pregnant? Where the hell had Chagny been? Why had she made me Belle's father? I laughed bitterly—I knew only too well that I was not Belle's father. For the past hour one theory had become more and more prominent in my mind, it explained the facts quite admirably. I was as convinced as I could be that this was the solution to the mystery.

Christine had gone off with Chagny and allowed him his rights before they were married. Cowed into submission by his brother, Chagny had then deserted Christine. She must have discovered her pregnancy later. Maybe she had contacted Chagny, and if she had he was rendered even more despicable. But even if she hadn't he had still abandoned her after taking her maidenhead—and he deserved death for his actions. I scowled, if I ever saw him again, I would gladly oblige. No other explanation worked so well, and no other explanation suited me as well.

At last I was allowed to truly hate my rival, and at the same time it explained Christine's current situation so well. She could not have supported Belle nearly as well with any other job available to her. Stripped of her virtue, she could have expected no decent man to marry her. I felt remorse rip through me as I remembered my vicious words to her that first night. I had not spared her. But then I could not have had any idea what she had gone through. Still, I should have known that _something _. . . oh, Christine.

But even as I accepted my own explanation as truth, the most perplexing question remained unanswered. Why had Christine told Belle that I was her father? It had to mean something! It meant she had not hated me, no more, it meant she had respected me. She must have hated the boy after he had left her, but she could easily have made up a man to be Belle's father. Instead she had chosen me. She had chosen to talk about me often and fondly, to describe me as a worthy man, a great man—and to enjoy doing so. She had even told Belle of the Angel of Music, as if it held happy memories. My heart beat wildly within my chest as I considered the implications. It must mean she had cared for me . . . and gave me the hope she had felt something greater.

But what would I do with this information? Immediately I though to confront her, but even as I swiftly turned to walk back towards her house, another thought came to mind. What if I didn't tell her I knew? If she cared for me, trusted me, could I not get her to tell me herself? I wanted her. I wanted her body, her soul, and her mind. I could deceive myself no longer, and after this discovery I no longer wanted to. I loved her still and Belle's revelation had given me hope such as I had never dreamt of having. I would not ruin this chance, I would tread cautiously now. Once before, I had not been so cautious, and the results had been disastrous. No, I would not tell her, but rather hope that she would confide in me. I would give her reason to trust me, and perhaps even love me.

With reckless daring I set out to woo Christine Daae.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1883, Christine**

"So this is your decision?" Madame Giry questioned me quietly.

"Oh Madame, you know that no other job offers me the money this one does. I am terribly out of practice, and could only get a job as a chorus girl at best, even then, admit it, I could hardly afford to support us all."

"Us all? Child, I hardly expect you to support me."

"Madame, Meg is married now, with one child and another on the way. Soon she will have even more children; I know that you do not want to lean on her for support. They will have enough problems as it is. You have been looking after Belle with me ever since she was born. I don't know what I do with out you, and if I am to get any job I must have someone to look after Belle. I could hardly expect you to do so without support."

Madame Giry sighed, "Christine do you even understand what you are getting yourself into?"

"Madame, Mr. Bradbury seems like a very kind gentleman, I am sure he will be considerate enough. If he isn't, I can always leave him; it is not as if we will be married."

I bit my lip before continuing, "Madame I have not told you all yet. Mr. Bradbury wants me to go to England with him. He has promised me a house and an extravagant allowance. He knows of Belle, and says he does not care, as long as he does not see her. I am sure we could work something out."

"But Christine, England? What will happen after he is done with you?"

I blushed, and fidgeted with my collar, "Well I hear that in England, French women are quite the rage in . . . umm . . . certain circles."

Madame Giry eyed me, "So plainly you expect to get another protector. What if you can't?"

"We will hardly be worse off than we are now. Madame I have to do something. Erik's money finished a month ago. I have had no success finding a job that pays well enough even to support Belle and I, and no assurance for the future. Soon we will be out in the street."

Madame Giry was silent for a time, before replying slowly, "Christine you were always a delicate girl, but you have gained immeasurably in maturity over the last year. My common sense says this is our best option, and although I hate the idea of our coming to this, I will agree to go with you."

"Oh Madame thank you, I hope that through this I will have found the way to save Belle from poverty forever."

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Christine**

I should have felt odd arriving at a gentleman's lodging dressed for dinner, but my nerves prevented me from thinking of anything but the night ahead of me. When Erik had invited me to dinner I had been surprised, and I still hardly knew what to expect. What would happen? How would Erik behave? Should I apologize? Mustering my courage, I rapped sharply on the door. Almost immediately it opened, and Erik stood before me. I drew in a breath—his figure was as formidable as ever. His tall frame was not bulky, but anyone could sense the sinewy strength lurking beneath his clothing. The man exuded power and sexual magnetism. I had always felt the attraction, but in my innocence I had not identified Erik's pure sexual power. Now it overwhelmed me.

"Welcome, my dear," he said, stepping back to allow me entrance.

All the polite replies that came to mind died on my lips, none seemed appropriate; I entered in silence.

I walked into a small, elegantly appointed front hall. Erik came behind me and his hand found the small of my back, sending a wave of warmth through me. He guided me into a small parlor, dominated by a beautiful grand piano. Sitting there in its dark majesty, the instrument reminded me of Erik. Each had the capacity to produce divine music. Memories washed over me, transporting me to another time, when Erik had been my Angel of Music. I could hear his magnificent voice echoing in my memory, and I suppressed an urge to ask him to sing for me—but perhaps later?

"Would you like a drink," he asked, his voice beautiful even in speech.

"Yes thank you," I replied, and watched as he poured a sparkling amber liquid into my glass. I accepted the wine glass from him, our fingers brushing as it exchanged hands.

I gestured to the piano, "Have you been playing much lately?"

"I play," he replied, gazing at the instrument fondly, before focusing his penetrating gaze on me, "Music will never cease to be one of my life's ruling passions."

He looked at me in silence for a brief moment, before asking, "And you Christine, have you been singing?"

"Oh," I said, "Not professionally of course, but I still sing occasionally—at home or at social gatherings. I couldn't let that leave my life either; it wouldn't have been fair to . . ." I stopped abruptly, Belle's name frozen in my mouth.

Erik's eyes seemed to pierce my soul. "Who would it not have been fair to Christine?"

I laughed uneasily, "Myself. I think I would have withered away without music."

"I see," Erik said, almost exactly as if he _did_ see. I shivered. Erik was not all seeing—no matter what I had once thought. Seeking to change the subject I asked, "Have you been living here long?" I didn't see how he could have been, surely he would have heard of me—if he read the newspapers.

"No, just a couple of months now. I moved to England to work with my present partner, but until now I have done most of my work from the country. However, James said he was tired of having to travel to see each other or correspond through the mail. He eventually badgered me into moving to London."

I laughed, "He badgered you!" I found that strangely at odds with the all powerful figure of my youth, and yet it made him seem far more approachable.

His eyes glinted with amusement, "You find that funny do you?"

"Terribly." I replied mischievously, "I must ask James the secret of it."

"Surely my dear, you know you need not badger me for anything, all you need do is ask," he said, his voice low and earnest.

Suddenly I felt hot all over, and a deep longing surged up in my heart, if only we were two young lovers ready to take on the world. I could make-believe, I thought to myself. _It is dangerous to think make-believe is real_. But I don't think its real, I defended, I know it's just pretend.

"Well my dear, I think its time we went into dinner. I am afraid you must do with me as your server, as I don't keep a manservant."

I felt a little rush of pleasure at the thought. Dining together with no servants seemed like such an intimate act. "I'm sure nothing will be lacking," I replied, placing my fingertips on his arm.

The whole situation was highly unusual, of course when in the cottage there were no servants—only Antoinette, Belle, and I. But this was different. We were dining formally, but yet very_ very_ informally.

Erik served me all the food, refusing my help; he seemed to take a special delight in the act, requesting my preferences as if he were offering me the world. As he worked, I watched him, once again marveling at the strength he represented. Wouldn't it be wonderful to have that strength to depend on, to allow him to shoulder my burdens? Abruptly I felt tears start to my eyes, and I quickly repressed them. This was foolish speculation. But even though I could not have that, at least I had this present pleasure.

If Erik had noticed my watery eyes, he did not comment. Instead he set out to be a charming companion, engaging me in conversation on a number of subjects. Throughout the night I often stole little glances at him when I thought he was not looking. As much as I was enjoying myself I was a little at a loss. What could this mean? It was almost as if . . . as if he were wooing me. But that was ridiculous.

All too soon the dinner came to an end. Erik shushed all my offers of help like I was a foolish child, and led me back to the parlor.

"I hope, my dear, you did not suffer too much from my amateur cooking."

I laughed, "Don't fish for compliments Erik; you know you excel at everything you do."

He dismissed my comment with an expressive gesture of his elegant hands, but his eyes darkened.

"Erik, I was wondering."

"Yes? What is it you desire?"

Once again heat suffused my body, but I quelled the wanton thoughts that flew into my mind, and focused on my original object. "Well, I would be happy . . . that is, I would dearly love to hear you play," I fumbled, and then added in a lower voice, "to hear you sing."

He said nothing, his amber eyes searching mine, as if questioning whether or not I knew what I was asking, what I was getting myself into. And then, "As you wish."

He moved towards the piano, and opened the instrument, exposing the ivory keys. Seating himself gracefully on the bench, he laid his fingers gently down, and, as I looked, I was struck anew by the enormous sensuality of his hands. My eyes were fixated on those strong hands as he began to play a beautiful melody, most likely of his own composition, for it was foreign to my ears. There was something strangely arousing in watching his fingers move over the keys, and I could easily imagine myself subject to the same attention.

Then he began to sing, and it was fortunate that I was seated, for I felt my knees weaken and I closed my eyes involuntarily. Oh God, my memories were a faded grey in contrast to glorious reality of his voice. My dreams could never have replicated the extraordinary resonance, the depth of timbre, and the sheer magnitude of power that was Erik's voice. I willing surrendered myself to its bewitching influence, and like a moth to the flame I found myself rising and moving towards him.

I drew near to him, until only a thin veneer of air separated our two bodies. My hand moved to his face, imitating a gesture from the past, but this time no thought of removing his mask crossed my mind. I only wanted to caress the strong line of his jaw, to run my fingers over the curve of his cheek. Erik leaned his head back under my touch, as a flower opens to the sun. His eyes were closed, and his voice slowly trailed off into silence.

He sat there just a moment, before his hand rose to cover mine. Gently he took my hand, and rising, led me over to the chaise. Seating me beside him, he turned to me, a searching expression upon his face.

My name escaped from his lips like a long held breath, "Christine."

I gazed up him, not wanting to break this precious moment, desperately holding on to my make-believe.

Then he spoke again, his voice stronger, determined, "Christine, we are both people with a past now. You know that I have done many terrible things. I know, better than anyone, how cruel life can be. Circumstances can drive you to do things you never dreamed possible. Christine, I would know what your life has been. I will not condemn you for anything—that I swear. Just confide in me."

_Just confide in me._ Oh God, if only I could; if only I could pour out my sorrows, my trials, and my tribulations, without fear, into his listening ears. But could he really keep that promise? After all, he did not know what had happened. And I could not, would not, tell him all. I could not tell him I had left Raoul the very next day, descended into his domain, and lived there like a mad woman. I could not bear to see the pity in his eyes, pity he had scorned so many years ago. I didn't want his pity, I wanted his love. What if he was so ridden with guilt that he pretended he still loved me? _What if he does?_ No, impossible, just days ago his actions had not been those of love. What game he was playing now I knew not, but less than a week ago he had called me whore.

I clung to that thought. If I told him of my past, he would know just how thoroughly I had sold my soul.

Unbidden my eyes filled with tears, and I turned my head. "I cannot. I cannot!"

I felt his hand reach for my face, and I trembled under his touch. He gently turned my head so that he could look into my eyes—and so that I could look into his. There, in his golden orbs, I saw a little hurt, but mostly sadness. _But in his eyes all the sadness of the world_. Only now he mourned not only for himself, but for both of us, _for me_.

"Christine, just know, whenever you are ready to tell me, I will be ready to listen."

Almost I yielded, but the memory of Erik's temper, of his mercurial moods, held me strong. His mood was sweet and tender now, but it was as changeable as the tides—one moment gentle and lulling, the next vicious and deadly. Caution won the day.

I smiled weakly, "Thank you Erik, I will keep that in mind."

I could see the disappointment in his eyes as he spoke, "I hope you do. Now I suppose it is time for you to go home. I will see you to your carriage."

Silently he helped me don my evening cloak, and we walked out of the building together, my arm threaded through his. We walked up to the carriage and disengaged arms, before Erik opened the door and prepared to hand me in. But to his surprise, and mine as well, I suddenly launched myself into his arms, and pressed a passionate kiss upon his lips. Needily, I devoured his mouth, and after the initial shock, he returned my kiss will equal fervency. We pulled apart, breathless, and I quickly entered the carriage bidding him a hasty good night.

As the carriage rolled into motion, I looked back at his dark figure, countless feelings swarming through my heart, and among them one small emotion flickered to life—hope.

(a/n) Thank you for reading, please read and review! Side Note: for anyone that likes dark Erik, don't worry that side of his personality is still lurking in the shadows (a/n)


	7. A Note, a Past Sin, and a Choice

(a/n) Okay, chapter seven. _does a little dance._ I can't believe I'm at chapter seven.

Ziroana: I am happy to hear from you as always. You have become a loyal reviewer.

Countess Alana: Welcome! Yes, "such a little thing really, a kiss . . . most people don't give it a moment's consideration." Why is it that I am unable to resist quoting Kay?

Forever in a bottle: Thanks, glad to hear from you again!

I was tempted to call this chapter "Notes", I'm sure you'll see why. (a/n)

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Erik**

As Christine's carriage disappeared around the corner, I could still feel the tender imprint of her lips upon mine. Wonderingly, I raised my fingers to my mouth, caressing the contours Christine had explored just moments before. I had kissed her only a few nights ago, but this was different. She had kissed me—willingly.

My heart felt tight, as I contemplated the meaning. After all I had discovered about her, and now this kiss! I had been horribly disappointed that she had not told me of her past, but that last gesture gave me hope. Perhaps she was not ready to confide in me, but she must care for me! I knew then I had to end this damnable charade; she was not my mistress, a toy to be discarded when I was done with her—she never had been, despite my foolish pretence. I would never be done with her.

If there was to be any hope for us, I knew I had to make sure she understood I expected nothing from her because of my money. I wanted her to come to me willingly. If I held her in my arms, I had to know it was because she wanted to be there, and for no other reason.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Christine**

As I rifled through my mail, I came across a thick envelope, turned it over, and was rewarded with the sight of Erik's sloping script. My heart give a little skip, and my figures were eagerly prying up the wax, when, through the corner of my eye I saw what Erik's letter had been covering. The envelope was sickeningly familiar, and I knew the author even before I turned it over. I groaned. In my preoccupation with Erik I had forgotten all about replying to Reggie.

I opened the note and read the words, feeling slightly nauseated.

_My dearest Elise,_

_I grow saddened by your neglect. I will be quite hurt if you do not reply to my little notes. Really I do not think you can afford to wound me, my dear. I am pining away. Do put me out of my misery and tell me when I may see you._

_Ever devoted,_

_Reggie_

God how I hated his stupid games! He insisted on the trappings of dinner and polite conversation just to torment me. It amused him to see me writhe. I just wanted to get the meeting over with. So I swiftly penned him a response setting up the dinner for the very next night. The sooner I saw him, the less time I would have this hanging over my head. I had just sold Percy's last gift to me, the diamond necklace, so the funds were at hand. All I had to do was feed the snake, and he would leave me alone. But for how long?

Even as I transferred my attention to Erik's letter I felt guilty. If Erik discovered my appointment there would be hell to pay.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1885, Christine**

Irresolutely, I stared down at the note in my hand.

_Elise,_

_I need to see you. Come to my house immediately._

_Derek_

The words were terse, and I could easily imagine him issuing the order in a cold, clipped voice. I had been Derek's mistress for one month now. More than enough time to wish I had never met him. The man was repulsive. Oh, he was not ugly. In fact, although not traditionally handsome, his harshly sculpted features did hold a certain appeal. His body was trim and fit—he was far more athletic than other of my previous protectors had been. At first I had appreciated that, now his strength was definitely to my disadvantage. I feared the man. But I had to leave him.

Derek was my third liaison, and my first experience with real perversion. From the first he had been a little twisted. But gradually his demands had grown more and more debase—the perverted fantasies he asked me to perform filling me with disgust. Soon I realized that my youthful appearance—my apparent vulnerability and innocence—was what attracted him. But far worse was the realization he must have performed some of these fantasies before—in real life. These fantasies involved youth, pain, and even death—bringing home to me just how dangerous he was. I feared for my life. But I was not ready to leave him yet; I needed a plan, some way to hide. His temper was devilish, and I did not doubt that his pride would not accept the insult of my desertion. He would hunt me down.

However I _would_ leave him soon, and I could not afford to make him angry now. I would go and see him.

I informed Brooke that I was leaving, and he did not betray an ounce of surprise. The perfect butler in fact—the man had been with me for just a year and still I had not pierced his impenetrable façade.

Outside I summoned a cab, and as the carriage rolled through the deserted streets, I was very aware of the late hour. While in the cab, I reflected on Derek's note. It was unusual that he would summon me in this manner, since, according to custom, he always visited me—not vice versa.

Upon arrival, I exited the carriage and viewed Derek's town house with a strong sense of foreboding. But nevertheless I mounted the stairs and sounded the massive knocker. I tensely waited for the butler, feeling as if he would never come—and indeed I hoped he would not. However, my hopes were crushed when he opened the door, and proceeded to usher me into a large drawing room filled with the scent of smoke and alcohol. Derek stood by the fireplace, his dark blond hair tousled and his hazel eyes regarding me anticipatorily. But he was not alone. Two other men sat in the room, sprawled out in chairs. Their eyes surveyed my body greedily, and I felt my skin creep with fear—they were all very drunk . . . and very lecherous.

Derek spoke, his words clearly betraying his inebriated state, "Elise," he gestured to the men, "some business associates."

And then he said to the men, "See gentlemen, she is quite a taking little thing. There is only one of her, but she will do very well on short notice. I am quite willing to share."

Panic had filled my soul when I heard those words, but I forced myself to think. I could not allow this to happen! I may have sold my body, but I was not _this_ low yet. I knew I had to stall for time, so I had batted my eyelashes and smoothed my hand over my bodice.

Then in my most alluring tones I declared, "Oh my Derek, I did not expect your company. I am _very_ _pleased_ to meet you gentlemen, but do allow me a moment _ready_ myself."

Trembling, I waited for Derek's reply, sure he would deny me.

But he said with a dismissive gesture of his hand, "Very well, but hurry back my dear."

With a seductive sway of my hips, I left the room, and they allowed me—probably because the wine had clouded their senses. I stealthily departed the house—resolved never to see Derek again. However, that did nothing to settle my nerves. I might have decided to never see him again—but I was sure he would want to see me.

I swiftly began to make my plans; I would simply disappear for awhile. Now I was doubly glad that Belle and Madame Giry were not involved in this. My previous protector, Sir George, had been wildly infatuated with me. He had given me up upon his marriage—a more honorable man than most—but before our liaison had ended I had fully milked his affection, and he had paid for my two houses to be built. Now I felt almost sick with relief that I had installed Belle in the cottage before I met Derek.

I dared not imagine what he might of done had he known of her existence.

That very night I returned to the cottage, and informed Madame Giry of my destination—an obscure little inn in the midst of London. Dear Antoinette, she had been my comfort and my support. Even now at least I knew that should something happen, she was there for Belle. While at the cottage I swiftly changed into a rather drab outfit, a relic of my poorer days that I now wore while cleaning.

I then went to the other house, packed a portmanteau, and informed Brooke I would be gone for a few days. I proceeded to call a cab, and was on my way. When I reached the inn, the sight of it depressed me, but I knew I would pass relatively unnoticed in this dingy neighborhood.

The place was certainly of low repute and I endured several lewd comment and glances as I entered the inn; however, inside it was cleaner, and the innkeeper seemed to be respectable enough. He showed me to my room, a dark little chamber containing only a cot, night table, chair, and a few hooks. I glanced distastefully down at the mattress; it would certainly be lumpy and probably contained bed bugs.

I stayed in my room all of the next day, contemplating what my next step would be. My meals were sent up to my room, and they were really my one distraction. Surprisingly the cooking was rather good.

I was on edge all the time, and knew I would soon have to emerge—if only to keep myself from going mad. As evening fell, I decided that I would just walk downstairs and back up again—for the sake of a little exercise. I descended the stairs and walked down to the foyer, there the innkeeper's wife greeted me.

"Well my dear, I am sure you needed a little walk after having been cooped up all day," she said in a kindly tone, but the underlying curiosity was obvious.

I was about to respond, when I saw her eyes widen in surprise. Fear washed through, just before a hand clamped down upon my shoulder and spun me around.

Derek's eyes glinted angrily, "Did you think you could escape me so easily madam wife?

My eyes shifted wildly back to the innkeeper's wife, "No, please, I am not his wife! Help me!"

She seemed dumbstruck, and Derek certainly did not wait for her response, swiftly dragging my screaming, struggling form to his carriage. He tossed me up into the vehicle, and my head cracked painfully against the wall. He climbed in after me and dragged him up against him, one hand clamped over my mouth, the other arm pressed me to him with a vise like grip. We rode in silence—or rather he was silent, and I was muffled.

All too soon we reached our desperation, and Derek practically carried me out of the vehicle. I twisted angrily in his hold, but to no avail; bitterly I wondered just how much he paid his servants to ignore his activities.

He dragged me through the doorway, and slammed the door closed behind his. The resounding sound triggered a new rush of panic, and I savagely bit down on his hand.

Cursing, he threw me down onto the drawing room floor, and I backed away from him in terror until my back hit the sharp edge of the fireplace.

Barely controlling his anger, he said in a sickening tone of voice, "I should kill you for that, but I have better plans for you at the moment."

Advancing toward me, he latched onto me arm and jerked me up into him, "I've only begun to play with you my dear."

I wanted to scream and run, but I knew fighting him would buy me no quarter. So gathering my scattered wits, I wrapped my free arm around him, "I never said I wasn't willing to play your games—I just prefer if we are the only two participants."

His grip tightened painfully on me, and he hissed into my ear, "I don't care for your preferences; you will do what I tell you."

"All right, I will," I said, tears in my voice, "I've learned my lesson now, I promise."

Even as I said those words I knew he meant to kill me, tonight, tomorrow—it mattered not—I just had to get away! My mind wildly searched for something, anything, and suddenly I had an idea—if it worked I could get away, if not . . . I would surely die.

Crushing my doubts, I pulled his head down to mine and kissed him determinedly. Moving, as if to the divan, I manipulated him to where I wanted. Then, praying it was there, I reached behind me and I felt a thrill as my fingers closed on the heavy marble statue. Swiftly I raised it above my head, and struck with all my might. The statue fell with a sickening thud. Horror and triumph warred in my breast as I watched Derek sway for just a moment before crashing to the ground.

For an instant I was frozen, watching blood pool around Derek's head. Then I let the statue fall from my nerveless fingers, before turning to rush from the room. I had barely made it through the drawing room door when I collided with a figure in the darkness of the hallway. Screaming I hit out at him, and he grabbed my wrist.

His words fell upon my ears like a silky caress, "My dear, there is really no need to make all this fuss. I have no intention of harming you."

As he surveyed my panicked face, his eyes narrowed, "I wonder what has frightened you so?"

"Nothing," I gasped out, "Nothing, just let me go."

"No, I think not. I may be wrong, but something tells me a rather interesting sight awaits me through that doorway."

Still maintaining his iron grip he dragged me with him into the drawing room, and I heard his quickly indrawn breath as he surveyed my work. Pulling me along, he approached Derek's limp form, and bent down to check his pulse.

"Dead," he stated, simply and matter of factly.

"No," I said my eyes wide, "No!"

"Check for yourself," he said callously.

I took him up on his offer, shuddering as I pressed my fingers to Derek's lifeless wrist. Nothing.

My throat choked with sobs. I was a murderer.

"Let's go," he said in a quiet tone. I could not believe my ears. He wasn't going to turn me in to the police?

More willingly, I left the house with him. Once outside, I swiftly began walking away, but he quickly caught up with me.

"No, no," he said, "You aren't going anywhere. Come, you must be distraught, I will take you to my house and serve you a nice cup of tea."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I announced in a panicked voice.

"My dear, you really have no choice, if you don't cooperate, I'm afraid I will have to inform the police of your activities."

"Why?" I demanded, "Why do you want me to go with you?"

"I just wish to learn a little more about your rather interesting situation. What is your name my dear?"

I stared at him mutely, a stubborn expression on my face.

He shook his head sadly, "My dear, cooperate, cooperate."

"Elise Carpentier," I gritted out.

"I am very pleased to meet you Elise," he said, turning the name into a provocative caress, "my name is Reginald Grantham, but I insist you call me Reggie."

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**London, 1890, Christine**

As I sat sipping my wine, I watched Erik contemplatively from under my lashes. We had had dinner at his lodgings once again, a location I infinitely preferred to my memory laden courtesan's house. Once again Erik had been charming almost beyond belief. But I knew that he had something on his mind—something that he was now about to reveal to me.

He was seated beside me on the divan, and he slowly turned to face me. His eyes fixated upon mine.

"Christine," he said, his voice soft and caressing, "I want you to know something."

"Yes," I encouraged, despite an apprehensive knot in the pit of my stomach.

He took a breath, "I will not hold you to your half of the bargain. The money is yours to do with as you please."

"But Erik . . ." I faltered, more than a little confused.

"Christine, its not that I don't want you, believe me. But I want the choice to be yours."

I felt tears start to my eyes. My choice!

Suddenly I reached out, mesmerized by the tenderness and vulnerability I saw in his eyes. I caressed his jaw, and drew his head down to meet mine in an agonizingly sweet kiss. I drank him in like a long draught of heady wine, my senses swam, and I seemed to lose all touch with reality.

Abruptly Erik deepened the kiss, his tongue ravaging my mouth, and I responded—a willing victim.

My arms were tightly clasped round his neck, but I loosened one and brought it down over his back, running my fingers over the taut muscles I had admired for so long. He made a little noise of pleasure over my touch, and abandoned my mouth—but I felt only briefly deprived as he transferred his attention to my neck. He pressed hot kisses along that smooth curve, traveling ever lower, to the angle of my collar bone, and then to the curve of my breast. I whimpered in pleasure as he explored my skin, wanting more, so much more.

Skillfully, he lowered my bodice, exposing my breasts to his attentions. I opened my eyes just in time to see his mouth descend to my rosy nipple, and a rush of pleasure flooded my body as he teased me with his tongue.

Gazing down at that incredibly erotic sight, unwelcome memories flooded my mind, memories of other men—nights that had started just like this.

"Erik . . .Erik stop."

Immediately he ceased his ministrations, and immediately I felt bereft. He raised his head to look up at me—his eyes confused and hurt.

"What is it Christine?"

As I stared into his face his mask glinted at me mockingly, a physical reminder of all the lies—all the deception that even now separated us.

"Erik I . . . Erik its just that, I need to think, I . . .I need this to be different. You told me earlier I had the choice. Oh Erik, you have no idea how much that means to me. It's been so long since I had a choice. I'm not leaving you, I promise, I just need to think."

Abruptly he rose, and swiveled, "Alright," he bit out, his tone harsh.

"Erik please don't be angry!"

He sighed, "I'm not angry Christine, confused, frustrated, and upset maybe, but not angry."

"Erik, I didn't mean to . . ."

"Christine, I think it would be better for us both if you went ahead and left."

"Alright," I replied tentatively, "Erik . . . I'll be in touch."

Tugging my bodice back into place I silently left the room and carefully slipped out the front door.

(a/n) _wooosh, lets out deep breath_. Another chapter! Yay for the weekend! Ok guys you better review! (a/n)


	8. Darkness Descends

(a/n)Thanks to all my reviewers, I love you guys! Ziroana, forever in a bottle, LostSchizophrenic, Witchy-grrl, GoldenLyre. Sorry guys no personal replies tonight. I can barely keep my eyes open.

Ok this chapter is all present day, London, so I just have character headings.

Well here is the chapter. Enjoy! (a/n)

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

I gazed absently around the room, absorbing the bright colors and rich furnishings. Reggie and I were dining at Simpson's-in-the-Strand; it was one of the most popular restaurants in London, and society had turned out en masse to enjoy roast joints of beef and lamb carved from the silver-domed trolleys Simpson's was renowned for.

At the other tables people laughed and talked, their chatter creating a pleasant blur of conversation. Fashionably garbed ladies fluttered their hands in expressive gestures, the feathers in their hair bobbing in unison, as they leaned in, all the better to attract their gentleman companions. The darkly attired gentlemen, only too appreciative, laughed deeply at their ladies comments, retorting with some meaningless sally. It was a world I knew only too well, but despite its shallow appearance, I also knew that intrigue and scandal lurked just under the flashy façade.

I was an excellent example.

Reggie's voice recalled me from my escapist abstractions, "My dear, you have hardly touched your desert," he said, shaking his head mournfully. "Do eat up, the sight of you picking at your food is making me feel quite melancholy."

I repressed a glare—I would not let the man see how much he irritated me—and took a bite of my raspberry tart. It was really very good, as it should be, but I was in no mood to enjoy my food tonight.

"So my dear, how does your new conquest feel about our little evening? He looked like quite a volatile fellow at the theater."

I looked up at him calmly, anxious to get rid of the gleam in his eye, "Oh, he is not worried," I replied nonchalantly, "He knows he has nothing to fear . . . from you."

"That sounds like a sensible sentiment," Reggie said without ire, but his eyes promised retribution.

"Reggie! My scamp of a little brother! Imagine meeting you here!" exclaimed Maximilian, Lord Charlbury, Reggie's elder brother, as he approached the table.

Max shared his younger brother's dark hair and complexion, but there the resemblance ended. His appearance was rather more disheveled than Reggie's, communicating a carefree attitude that was not without charm. Jovial and blunt, Max was the exact opposite of his brother's smooth, sophisticated manner.

"Good to see you Max," Reggie drawled with lazy good humor, something like affection appearing in his eyes.

"Ah, and the charming Elise," Max said, "As always, delightful to see you. But I simply cannot understand it; why do you continue to grace my rogue of a brother with your presence? I promise you, I am far more deserving of your company!" he said, with blissful disregard for the lavishly painted blond creature hanging on his arm.

"Max, you are the rogue," I retorted, my voice more animated than it had been all evening. Max was a rather charming ne'er-do-well, up to his ears in debt no doubt, but despite his rakish ways, he was continually good humored, and really meant no one any harm—unlike his brother. I really couldn't imagine Max had any knowledge of Reggie's illicit activities.

"Max, do go away, you are really quite unwelcome at the moment" Reggie said complainingly.

Max gave a laugh, "I see, you wish to keep Elise all to yourself! Well I shan't bother you any longer. Do remember my offer Elise; I can save you anytime, just say the word."

"I'll remember Max," I replied with a wide smile.

Max departed for his own table, and we were left alone once again.

"Elise, my darling, if you smile like that people will think you prefer my brother to my charming self. We really can't have that." Reggie said reprovingly.

"Oh, we would never want them to think that." I replied in a honey sweet voice, "After all it could never be true. Could it?"

"I would hope not. It would reveal a definite lack of taste in you my dear, and we cannot have you ruining your reputation for good taste."

A yawn rose to my lips, and I tried to repress it, but Reggie noticed.

He gave a sigh, "I fear I am boring you Elise. Well I suppose it is time we brought the evening to an end."

He rose and approached my chair, "Come, let us depart."

Gladly, I stood, and took his arm, eager for the night to end.

"Reggie shouldn't you be paying the bill? Would you like me to?" I asked spitefully.

"No, no, don't worry they will put it on my tab," he replied with a pained expression, "I would never let a lady pay Elise. You wound me by asking."

But you don't mind blackmailing a lady for thousands of pounds, I thought acidly, oh the irony.

We left Simpson's and alighted into Reggie's carriage; he insisted on transporting me, despite my preference for hiring a cab.

On the ride he was as talkative as usual, and I partook in the conversation, but only enough prevent a reprimand. Finally we reached my house, and the time came for me hand over the money currently nestled in my reticule. I opened the drawstrings of the bag, and pulled out the envelope, handing it to him.

"Good night Reggie," I said, opening the door in my rush to leave, but he grasped my wrist.

"Darling Elise, you mustn't leave without a proper goodbye," he taunted, pulling me to him. I had been so close to escape! Resignedly I turned to him, and he lowered his head to mine, a dark glint in his eye. He kissed me quite thoroughly, but his touch left me cold, and as soon as he released me I lost no time in making my escape. As I walked away, I heard him call "Goodnight my darling!" and I increased my pace.

Thank God that was finally over!

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Erik**

I strolled through the streets of London, an unaccustomed feeling of lightheartedness permeating my being. At first I thought to go see Christine, but then my mind turned to her little daughter. I wondered if I could steal another illicit visit. Feeling like a mischievous child I made my way to Belle's street.

I did not hear her as I approached, and when I gazed into the garden I did not see her. Disappointed, I turned to go when a patch of blue caught my eye. Down at one end of the garden, lying between rows of hollyhocks, marigolds, and daffodils, was Belle, looking like a flower herself. She was still as a mouse, watching something intently. For I moment I just stood there looking at her. Then I whispered "Belle"

She did not turn, and I said a little louder "Belle."

She turned her head, her face puckered into a little frown, but when she saw me a bright smile spread across her face. I felt my heart tighten at her look of delight. It had been a long time since anyone had been so glad to see me—if ever.

She sprung up, and skipped toward me, her brown curls bouncing.

"Hello Mister."

"Hello Belle, I was surprised to see you get up, I thought you a flower, rooted to the ground."

She giggled. "Don't be silly."

I smiled, "Now whatever were you staring at so fixedly?"

"Oh," she breathed, "I was trying to get the pixie that lives in the daffodils to come out. She is awfully shy."

"Indeed," I replied seriously, "Have you seen her before?"

"Oh only a glimpse here and there, but I am determined to see all of her, if I have to lie still all day!"

"Do you know her name?"

"Of course! Don't you know that all pixies are named after the flowers they live in? Her name is Daffodil! I am sure she wears a lovely gauzy yellow gown, just like a daffodil, and, if she would just come out, I could see it."

I stared down bemused at this dreamy eyed child before me, all the wonder and belief of youth present in her face. Suddenly a guilty expression spread across her face, and she leaned forward conspiratorially.

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she whispered.

Had she told her mother about me?

"Why not?" I inquired.

"I told mother I had seen you, and she said I was never to speak to you again. In fact, she told me to go in the house immediately if I saw you."

I frowned. This child was too innocent; she really ought not be talking to me.

"Don't frown! I'll still talk to you a little. Just a little wouldn't be too bad would it?"

I looked at her gravely, "I'm afraid "just a little" is too much if your mother told you not to. Did you tell her you talked to me before Belle?"

She blushed, "Well. . .no."

"Belle, you should not deceive your mother."

She sighed, "I know, but you are so interesting! And very nice! I spend all my time waiting for things to happen, and now that you have come I'm not allowed to talk to you." She wrinkled her nose, "I don't think it's fair."

"Belle, not everyone in the world is nice. I would not hurt you, but others might. Suppose someone tried to steal you away?"

Her gazed turned wistful, "I think it might be exciting to be kidnapped by gypsies. I could travel with them, and dance around the fire at nighttime. The gypsy children always look like they have such adventures!"

I stiffened, "Belle you certainly do _not_ want to be kidnapped by gypsies!"

"Why not! Everyone always says that, but they don't really know!" she declared resentfully.

"I was kidnapped by gypsies Belle," I revealed.

She stared at me. "_Really_!"

"Yes, and it was not nice or exciting. It was horrible! You see, gypsies only like themselves. They don't like outsiders. They probably wouldn't give you much to eat; they would make you do lots of hard work, and if you didn't, they would beat you. Does that sound fun?"

"No, not at all," she answered in an awed voice.

"Good," I retorted decisively.

"Oooo," she gave a little a shiver. "Now I will be frightened whenever I see a gypsy!"

I repressed a smile, the child really did have an active imagination.

"Now will you listen when your mother tells you stay away from people?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she replied reluctantly.

"Well I am sorry to have to say goodbye to you Belle, but I cannot help you disobey your mother. I have enjoyed talking to you very very much."

"What if you came and talked to her? Then she would see you were perfectly alright! Do come and visit her," she pleaded.

"Well," I said slowly, "Not right now. But maybe, maybe soon."

Belle's eyes lit up, and she jumped up and down. "You must come! You must!"

"Belle, whatever is all this racket all about!" a woman's voice called, from inside the house, before emerging, arms akimbo, to frown at Belle.

I froze. The woman was Madame Giry! I believe I was almost as shocked as when I saw Christine again. I held my breath, waiting for her to speak.

She stared at me a brief moment, and then "Belle come away from the gate, stop bothering that poor man."

"Oh, I'm not bothering him, he likes talking to me."

"Belle, come inside this instant. Do you want me to tell your mother?"

"No . . ." she pouted, "Goodbye Mister, and remember you must come and visit!"

I did not speak, found myself unable to. But as she waved goodbye to me, my hand raised up in reply.

As I left Belle's house—Madame Giry's house? Christine's house?—I wondered if Madame Giry would tell Christine that she had seen me talking to Belle. If she did it might solve many problems, and yet, I wanted Christine to confide in me.

So Madame Giry had been with Christine all along, or, at least, I could only assume she had. This was an interesting turn of events; Madame Giry's presence meant she must know about Christine's profession. Did she support Christine's actions?

I wondered what had happened to little Giry. Surely she didn't live there too! I suddenly smiled, picturing the managers and Carlotta living there as well.

To my surprise, I heard a chuckle emerge from my own mouth. I was undeniably in a good humor, despite the confusion still reigning in my relationship with Christine, I couldn't help but feel hope for the future.

I turned onto the street Christine's house, Christine's _other_ house, was on, with the intention of visiting her. But the butler informed me she was not at home. I was disappointed, and yet it would give Madame Giry a chance to inform Christine of my talking to Belle. Then maybe we could finally hash things out.

Later that night, I once again set out to visit Christine; I was too restless to wait for morning.

As Christine's house came into view, I wondered if she was back yet. Had she simply been at the cottage earlier? The entire situation was a little ludicrous.

I drifted under the shadows of the trees lining the sidewalk, feeling myself comfortable in the darkness of their shade. I was just upon the house, when I saw a carriage drive up, and I paused under the trees, watching to see who emerged.

The door opened, and my gaze absorbed a woman's form, about to descend, she turned her face to the light, and to my surprise, I saw it was Christine.

Who was she with? Where had she been?

From my view I saw I man lean forward and grab her wrist.

Abruptly I felt angry. Damn him! He would not force her! I almost started forward, but she willing retreated into the carriage. Then, to my shock, I saw his lips descend to hers, and she did not push him away! Hurt welled up in me like a sickness as I watched their mouths meld.

God I was stupid! Rage abruptly replaced my, and a red mist clouded my gaze.

What must she thought of me last night! Such a love struck fool! Telling her she could have the money, giving her a choice. I need time, she had said last night, and I had believed her. In reality it had just been a ploy to soften my mind—to deceive me. She had manipulated me so easily—in my stupidity I was almost as much at fault as she. Well she would not find me so easy to manipulate now!

"Goodnight my darling!" I heard him call, and only then did the usurper's identity burst upon me. The man from the theater. That damned serpent! Perhaps she had been seeing him all along. Why did I let this woman get to me? What was it about her that turned me into an utter idiot?

Well she would deceive me no longer. As the carriage rolled away, I strode into action. I was unsure of what I meant to do, but Christine would not escape my wrath. Abruptly, Belle came to my mind, and the rage intensified. How could she do this with a child at home? By God, she would now have to answer to me!

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

I entered the library, and headed straight for the decanter. Really, this was quite my favorite room in the house. Books and drinks—what more could one want? I took a sip of the sherry, relishing the soothing sensation of the liquid running down my throat. Slowly I let myself relax, releasing my taut muscles from the hold I had maintained all night. Suddenly, I heard a sound behind me, and turned to behold Erik standing on the threshold, his figure dark and forbidding.

"Madame," he bit out, his tone cold and hard. But the ice in his voice was nothing in comparison to the blaze of his eyes, and I felt the heat of them as he ran his gaze down me, "You look well tonight."

I felt suddenly afraid, "Erik . . .what's wrong?" I faltered.

"Need you ask?" He gave a chilling laugh, "Don't bother to pretend. I saw you tonight with your lover. Or maybe I wrong you, another customer perhaps?"

My glass fell to the floor unheeded, and its contents flowed out onto the carpet in a dark ruby flood.

"No!" I cried, shocked, "Erik, it's not that! You don't understand! Reggie. . ."

"Cease!" he shouted, his voice booming through room. "Spare me your explanations Madame! I know now that only lies pass your lips! Did you think that you could fool me? Oh I did think you were sweet and sincere, but your deceptions have ceased, you will not find me such easy prey now."

"Erik. . ."

"Don't speak!" he growled, clenching his fists. "If I hear your false pleas, I swear I will not be responsible for my actions."

I let out a sound nearly resembling a whimper.

He strode forward, grabbed my wrists, and held me away from him.

"Let me get a good look at you. I must memorize the image of a lying doxy, so that I will not be so taken in again."

A gave a little gasp, tears starting to my eyes.

"Don't waste your tears on me! I'll not fall for such tricks," he sneered, his voice painful to my ears. "Why could you not be content with what you had? I gave you enough money to last a lifetime. But your insatiable greed led you on! By God, if common decency doesn't stop you, at least think of your daughter!"

I gazed at him in horror. He knew!

"Oh yes, I know. Do you want Belle to know that her mother is a harlot? To hear her branded a whore's daughter? She is an innocent sweet girl, and you will not drag her down with you! You do not deserve the child!"

"What . . .what?"

His grip tightened painfully on my wrists, and as his figure loomed above, all I could see were the flames that burned in his eyes.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't deprive Belle of her mother," he spit out, his voice turning the word 'mother' into an insult. "You will never see another man again. Do you hear me? Go home to your daughter, and do not come to this house again. Sell it if you must."

"Erik . . ."

"Silence! Do not speak to me! You will not be seeing me again, but don't think I won't know what you do. I will be watching you. And if you should disobey me, there will be hell to pay!"

With that he violently released my wrists, and I fell to the floor, bursting into sobs.

I heard him walk away, and he did not turn back.

(a/n) Okay a couple notes. Max is Lord Charlbury, not Grantham, because lords had a family name as well as a title. Oh and I actually did a little research to unearth Simpson's. Ok now you better review! Or else I am completely capable holding the story hostage. Muhahahaha. (a/n)


	9. Lord, what fools these mortals be

(a/n) Thanks you guys for all the great reviews!—LostSchizophrenic, erik'sangel527, Leeainthesky, Goldenlyre, unseenhope18, Crying Wasteland, Monroe-mary, Sue Raven, and forever in a bottle. You have no idea how much they encourage me :pretends like she didn't make threats to get reviews:

forever in a bottle: Thanks!

Sue Raven: Yay, another reader! You gave me an awesome review! I especially loved hearing that you thought my dialogue natural, and that a created a good atmosphere of 19th century London, and that . . . okay I loved it all. My roommate came in the room and asked me why I was grinning.

Monroe-mary: Also welcome to you! I love to hear that you guys read it all at once. Glad to know I kept you on your toes! You also gave a great review!

Crying Wasteland: No prob. I totally agree with you on Erik and Belle. She isn't going anywhere! I hope you will be satisfied with the Madame Giry action in this chapter.

Emily: Hehe, snake boy. A whimpering coward indeed. Well you will just have to see. And ire basically means anger.

Unseenhope18: I fully appreciated your review. Thank you for reviewing despite your exams. It is awesome to hear that your eyes watered at the end of the chapter (and that it had never happened before) I love making people cry :). I have nothing but praise for your awesome review. Thanks again.

GoldenLyre: Hehe I totally understand the wine thing. Just tell me amif I amgood wine—or the cheap stuff. LOL

Leesainthsky: Are you trying to say I wouldn't carry out my threat::attempts to look intimidating:

Erik'sangle527: As always you are an awesome reviewer. Yes I'm impressed with the restaurant myself :preens herself:

LostSchizophrenic: Chapter released! Yes, Erik is an idiot, as you can tell by the chapter heading.

Ok guys, here is the chapter. (a/n)

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**Christine**

I plopped the mop down upon the cottage floor angrily, and began viciously swishing back and forth, imagining I was shoving the mop in Erik's face. I was furious with the man. When he had left me last night I had been hurt, terribly hurt, but even as I mourned the death of our tender truce, a deep sense of misuse rose within me—spawning pure anger. The man was irrational! He could not wait for my explanations, and instead assumed he knew everything. He was like a typhoon, howling with rage, unable to hear anything over the blasts of own his self-righteous fury. I gave a frustrated growl. Just this morning I had gone to his lodgings, determined to tell him exactly what I thought of him, but he had thwarted my attempts.

I remembered with satisfaction how ferociously I had pounded on his door. The neighbors could not have been happy! But the stubborn man would not answer. Oh he had been there—upon my approach I had heard the angry strains of the piano. At least, I thought maliciously, he could not escape the large black mark my shoe had left upon his door.

"Christine!"

I looked up surprised, Antoinette hardly ever shouted.

"My dear, I called your name thrice before, and you did not answer. I need to have a talk with you." She glanced down at my handiwork and shook her head. "You are making a mess of that. Let me do it, while you talk."

I frowned, "What is you wish to talk about?"

"I must tell you that last night I saw a man talking to Belle at the gate. The man was Erik," she stated calmly.

"I told Belle not to speak with him!" I exclaimed with a scowl, although I had already surmised my little daughter had either disobeyed me or lied to me. How else could Erik have known of Belle's existence?

Antoinette raised a disapproving eyebrow, "So, you apparently already knew he was in town? Did you plan on telling me?"

I blushed, "Antoinette, I am sorry, but things were . . . are complicated."

She gave a short laugh, "This is Erik we are talking about, of course things are complicated. I still do not see why that prevented you from taking me into your confidence."

I opened my mouth to speak, but she silenced me with a wave of her hand.

"Now that I know he is back, I would appreciate it if you would tell me all that has happened."

I sighed, and restoring the mop to the bucket, took a seat.

Antoinette gave the mop a wistful glance, clearly desiring to repair my sloppy work, but she also seated herself, and looked at me with an expectant gaze.

I proceeded to tell her all that happened between Erik and me until last night; concluding, "Now he will not even speak to me. He is frustrating beyond belief!"

She sat in silence for a minute, before asking, "So Reggie approached you for money again? You did not tell me that either."

Pleadingly, I replied, "I did not want to worry you."

"My dear, it is far more worrisome to believe yourself ignorant of the facts. Now, as to the situation with Erik, I must ask you another question. Do you still love him?"

I cast my eyes downward, frozen at the unwelcome question—a question I had avoided ever since he had invaded my life once again. But I could not deny the wanton responses of my body . . . and the longing in my heart.

"Christine?"

I raised my eyes to meet her gaze, and replied in a choked voice, "as much as ever."

"Then I really do not see what all this difficulty is about."

I looked at her disbelievingly, "Just because I love him, does _not_ mean everything is alright! He would have to . . . are you saying you think he loves me?"

"Of course he does, why else would he go to such trouble?"

"Because of his pride! He merely wishes to prove to himself that he can have what I denied him so long ago."

She eyed me reprovingly, "Do you really believe that?"

"I must believe it—if I did not, I would drive myself mad."

"You appear to be driving yourself mad quite efficiently already," she observed. "My advice to you is to tell him everything."

"I . . ."

"I know you feel you cannot, so I think that telling him about Reggie would be a good first step."

"If I can get him to listen to me," I muttered.

A gleam of humor lit her eyes, "I have no doubt you will find a way."

With that, she rose and grasped the mop, effectively dismissing me.

I left her, and climbed the stairs to my room, my mind occupied with various schemes to force Erik into conversation. I discarded my more improbable plans regretfully (the ones involving Erik tied up), and finally settled on one that seemed likely.

Once in my room I changed from my old cleaning clothes into a smart walking dress. I looked very well in the emerald green ensemble; the form fitting bodice accentuated my figure, while a swoop of fabric embellished the narrow skirt in the front before drawing back into the frivolous loops and bows that flowed down from the extravagant bustle. Dainty high-heeled walking shoes engagingly peeped out from beneath the skirt, and pale green gloves, my parasol, and a high beribboned hat, tipped charmingly to one side, completed my outfit. Garbed in this manner, I felt confidence flow through me, and I departed to seek out Erik with my head held high.

When I reached his rooms, located in a comfortable, although not fashionable, building containing lodgings for bachelors, I went straight up and knocked on his door. However, as I had expected, there was no answer and I set my plan into motion. I descended the stairs, and sought out the porter; he sat in a little room near the entrance, observing all the comings and goings, and dutifully making himself available should a tenant need him. As I approached, I noted with satisfaction that, as I had thought, he was a young man of mediocre looks—the perfect prey for my machinations.

"Madam, how may I help you?" he greeted me.

"Well," I said, injecting a good dose female helplessness into my tone, "I am afraid I have a little problem. You see, I mislaid something quite precious to me when I was here for dinner the other night, and Monsieur Legard has not been home all day." I blushed and looked down demurely, to convey my shame at visiting a gentleman, then looking up again I continued, " 'twas a piece of jewelry, and I am afraid my husband has noticed its absence." I blushed deeply again, "I know how this must look, but . . ." I allowed my voice to tremble, and said in a confiding air, "my husband is a cruel brute, and very suspicious, if I don't wear it soon I don't know what he will do . . ." I broke off with a little sob.

The young man looked sorry, but a little disapproving, and replied, "Well I don't know as how I can help you deceive your husband, Madam."

"Oh please! Maybe if I told you . . ." I gave another little sob before continuing, "My husband is very mean, and treats me horribly. He is old, and ugly, and very jealous. My parents married me to him when I was just seventeen years old, when they should have married me to a handsome young man like you!" To my satisfaction I saw him blush deep red, "I have been so unhappy. Monsieur Legard has been so kind. I . . .I swear we are only friends. I just wanted someone to comfort me. So please, please say you'll let me into Monsieur Legard's rooms!" I pleaded, my eyes beseeching.

"Well it does seem rather a shame that such a nice lady such as you should be married to such a horrible old brute. Perhaps I could let you in just this once," he said hesitatingly.

"Oh thank you," I cried, giving him my most bewitching smile, "I knew you were a sympathetic spirit the moment I saw you!"

He stood a little straighter, saying in a business like voice, "Well come along then."

I followed him, allowing a little triumphant smile to curve my lips. Once we reached Erik's rooms he let me in, and said a little nervously, "You'll have to be quick, I need to return to my post as soon as possible."

I agreed immediately, and proceeded to manufacture a search, half expecting Erik to appear at any moment. But he was not there, and after looking for a while, I returned to the porter.

"I can't find it!" I exclaimed, allowing the tears to creep back into my voice.

He looked uncomfortable and said, "Well I am sorry but. . ."

"I will just have to wait here! Monsieur Legard must have them with him!"

"Madam I really cannot . . ."

"I have to stay!" I said, allowing myself to break into full-fledged sobs once more.

He stood helplessly staring at me for a minute, before saying with a sigh, "Oh alright, you can stay, only stop crying."

"Thank you, thank you! I promise you will not be sorry!"

He looked doubtful, but departed, closing the door behind him.

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**Erik**

I walked down the streets nervously, uncomfortably aware of the bright afternoon sun that exposed me to the curious glances of so many pedestrians. Tugging my hat brim lower, I continued determinedly on my way. I was just one block away from Christine's street when I saw her emerge, and took in breath, immediately turning down the street I had just crossed. Concealing myself, I watched as she walked past me, wondering darkly where she was going.

However I could not allow myself to be distracted from my errand, I had planned on waiting until she was absent anyway, so I repressed the urge to follow her, and continued on to the cottage.

I needed to talk to Madame Giry. After I had discovered Christine last night I had been nonplussed by the idea Madame Giry would support her in her behavior. Surely she did not? I would not speak to Christine, but I could not forgo the chance to learn more about her circumstances.

I reached the cottage, and opened the wooden gate for the first time, looking around for Belle. She did not appear, and I decided she must be inside. I made my way to front door, and gave two sharp raps. From inside the house I heard Madame Giry call, "Run and get the door my dear."

I heard the pattering of running footsteps, and the door swung open. Belle stood there, her lips forming a surprised 'O'.

"Hello Mister," she said a little shyly, and I realized how stern I must look.

Softening my face, I told her, "I have come to see your aunt my dear, may I come in?"

"Alright," she said, stepping back, "Are you going to meet my mother too?"

"Belle, who is at the door?" Madame Giry asked, emerging from a doorway.

When she saw me she showed no surprise, merely saying, "Belle, this gentleman and I need to talk, go out into the garden."

"But I want to see him too!" she protested, warming my heart.

"Maybe later, now go play."

My gaze followed Belle out, before I closed the door and turned back to Madame Giry.

"Come with me," she said, taking me into a little parlor.

She took a seat, and gestured for me to do the same.

"I had rather stand," I said shortly, and she looked disapproving, but nodded.

"Before you speak Erik, I must tell you that Christine has informed me of all your interactions," Madame Giry declared, her expression as impenetrable as ever.

"Does this mean you are fully aware of all of Christine's actions?" I asked sharply, a frown on my face.

"Yes, she informs me of all she does," she replied in a complacent tone.

"Madame, are you sure of this? If you are, it shows you in rather a bad light!"

"Sir, I am aware of what you think of Christine, and I must ask you not to make assumptions."

"I have not made assumptions," I replied in a low growl, "Christine's actions were clearly displayed for all the world to see."

"Erik, for you own good, I must ask you to speak with Christine on the subject. Have you asked yourself why she cares to explain herself to you, when you have already turned the money over to her?"

At the mention of the money, I immediately felt ashamed standing before this woman, my conduct in the affair was not entirely honorable either. However, I concealed my feelings, and reflected on her question. Why did Christine care so much? She must just enjoy dangling me on a string I decided, but the explanation seemed feeble even to me. Finally I replied, "How am I to know what schemes she has in mind now?"

"That is not worthy of you Erik," Madame Giry said, censure evident in her voice.

Standing before her short form, I felt surprisingly intimidated, but I merely replied coldly, "I can see you have nothing more to tell me, I bid you good day."

I strode out of room, scowling, I should never have come.

As I walked out into the garden, Belle ran up to me.

"Don't frown! Are you coming to visit us again?"

I looked down into her sweet face, and felt my heart soften, "I don't know Belle."

Her little brow wrinkled, and she asked "Did you and aunt fight? Whatever about? I didn't think you knew her."

I sighed, "Belle don't ask such questions, it isn't polite."

She looked a little hurt, but replied with spirit, "Why not? I want to know why you won't come see me anymore."

"Belle you hardly know me. You won't even miss me when I'm gone."

"Yes I will!" she declared, stomping her foot.

This was much harder than I thought it would be. We had only talked three times all together, and I didn't know why the child had latched onto me so. _But you like it_, whispered a little voice.

"Belle, it really isn't my choice, your mother has yet to say you can speak to me."

"Well you haven't talked to her yet," Belle pointed out triumphantly.

"And there is still a chance I will speak to her," I said, inwardly wincing at the half truth, "But for now I must say goodbye."

Giving into to impulse, I reached down and patted her cheek affectionately, before turning to leave.

Behind me I heard a little forlorn, "goodbye," and feeling quite forlorn myself, felt a sudden rush of anger at Christine. This was her fault. If she had not deceived me, even now I might have hope for the future—a future that could have included Belle.

As I walked home, I focused my thoughts on Christine's misdeeds, determined to ignore the sadness I felt at the loss of a future that had never been mine to begin with.

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**Christine**

I had been waiting for Erik for more than an hour, and the boredom had begun to grow intolerable. Not only that, but an illicit urge to look into Erik's bedroom had been eating away at me. My earlier search had allowed me to explore everywhere else, but I had left that room alone. Now the impulse was too great to deny, and I abruptly sprung out of my chair. Who knew when he would get home anyway?

I walked briskly down the hall, determined now that I had made up my mind. I reached the door, and drawing a deep breath, turned the knob. To my relief no coffin met my eyes, nor was the room hung in black. Instead the room looked quite ordinary, but the fact that it belonged to Erik made it extraordinary. I entered, my attention drawn by the dominating four poster bed. So Erik slept in a bed now? As I gazed at it, forbidden thoughts began to enter my mind, and I pressed my hands to my heated cheeks.

"May I ask what you are doing here?"

I started violently, and spun around to see the object of imaginings standing before me in the flesh. Thrown off balance at being found in his room, all my well prepared speeches left me.

"Are you glutton for punishment?" he asked in a chilling voice.

All at once I found my tongue, my anger resurging to the surface. "I came to demand the courtesy of a fair hearing. You must listen to me!"

"I must do nothing." he replied in a hard tone, his amber eyes cold.

"I will not leave here unless you do!"

"What a charming belief in your own powers," he sneered, "I could easily carry you out."

"I will scream bloody murder if you do!" I announced, surprising myself with my own bravado. I eyed Erik warily, bracing myself for a struggle, but to my surprise he seated himself on the bed, and folded his arms uninvitingly.

"Very well, speak if you must."

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I was the wronged one here. This would be hard, but I was determined to see it through.

"You saw something last night which you immediately assumed was evidence of some betrayal. You will find that your mistrust was completely unfounded."

Erik gave something resembling a snort, but I pointedly ignored him.

"This is long story, beginning with a man named Derek," I spat the name out with disgust, "He was my third protector. I had not been with him more than month when I realized I needed to escape. He was a perverted bastard, with a horrible temper, and I knew he would hunt me down. But I attempted my escape anyway, hiding at a little inn in the middle of London. He found me there the very next night, I know not how, and dragged me back to his house."

I paused in my narrative, trying to discern Erik's reaction, but his face resembled the mask he wore.

"I knew myself to be in danger; Derek would not scruple to kill me for my insult. So while at his house I managed to hit him over the head with a statue. I killed him." I stated dispassionately, inwardly still feeling disgusted with my own status as a murderer.

I was satisfied to note Erik had started when he heard my words, but his face did not change expression, still hard and cold.

"I was leaving the room when Reggie found me. Suspicious, he kept me captive, while going to explore the room I had just left. He found Derek there, but did not call the police."

"So now you repay him with your favors?" Erik cut in, eyes blazing.

I gave a bitter laugh, "Hardly, I have paid him many thousands of pounds."

Erik still looked upon me with an infuriatingly disbelieving expression, "That still does not explain your charming little kiss my dear. If you hated him you could feel no qualms in informing me of your situation earlier. You had plenty of opportunity."

Rage filled my soul. He still didn't believe even after I had told him my story—my carefully guarded secret!

"Believe me," I declared, trembling with anger, "I despise him even more than I despise you!"

Erik flinched, but his eyes betrayed nothing. He rose abruptly from the bed, and I shrunk away instinctively, but he walked past me to the wardrobe.

He opened the door, and withdrew something I immediately recognized—the Punjab lasso.

"Then you will be more than happy if I rid you of your problem," he challenged, watching me with painfully bright, hard eyes.

"I would have slit his throat myself years ago if I did not lack the courage," I hissed, still in the grip of my rage. Even now he doubted me!

Abruptly I saw Erik's expression change, a lost look entering his eyes, and I could see that he finally believed me.

But it was too late.

"Christine," he said, his voice anguished, taking a step towards me.

"Don't touch me!" I growled, and turned to leave.

He did not try to stop me, but as I left the room I thought I heard him utter, "I'm sorry" in a broken voice.

Once outside in the hall I paused for breath; despite my rage, I felt a desire to return to him—to accept his apologies. But then I remembered his cold face as I told him how I had killed a man, and my heart hardened.

I walked on, and did not turn back.

(a/n) :gives gasp of relief: Okay that last part was hard to write. I wanted to throw them down on the bed and make them apologize for everything, but they wouldn't let me. They are both so stubborn. Please review! (a/n)


	10. The Angel of Death

(a/n) Thanks for all the reviews guys!

AkashaVampireQueen: Thankyou—I don't know if I thought Christine was a whore originally but I was definitely frustrated with her.

Kate: Haha, it would be a good pun though. Thanks! I like hearing I have Erik's mind right.

Fingolifia: Thankyou! Thankyou! Thankyou!

Leesainthesky: Thanks, that a really great compliment. I'd like to think I can get into Erik's head. A major point in this story is to show Erik that it isn't all about him.

GoldenLyre: But what fun would that be! Then she would get all weepy—plus she probably would have let her baby die because she couldn't figure out what to do.

LostSchizophrenic: Yeah, he had an inward reaction, he was just grasping at straws, he didn't want to admit he was wrong.

Emily: Hehe I wasn't thinking of Snake boy in Daran Shan. I just thought it was funny.

Lizzie Black: Thank you! They are fools aren't they? I love insulting my own characters.

CynicallyAmused: Yay, I like to hear you wait for the updates. That doesn't make you a loser! I love angst myself, of course I want them to make up, but I love feeling that twisting of the gut.

Ziroana: Thanks, based on your suggestions, you'll like this chapter a lot!

Sugar Peaches: Thanks

Erik'sangel527: Yay! Hello again! I love your reviews. Thanks for saying I write Erik well, I love to hear that.

Crying Wasteland: I want to smack Christine too, and yet Erik was a jerk. Glad you like the Erik and Belle scenes. I love writing them.

Monroe-mary: Yes, he will feel guilty. So very guilty. Muhahahaha. Once again glad, you like Belle, she is my baby. OH and I feel so complimented when you say you waited up. This is a little earlier. . . But really its an hour earlier here. So you see.

Well here is the chapter, just a warning, there is quite a bit of VIOLENCE. Hope you aren't squeamish. (a/n)

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**Erik**

My God, what had I done! I fell to my knees as I heard Christine leave, a single tear rolling down my face, its calm path a poor reflection of the storm raging within me. How could I have been so mistaken? But I knew! So twisted was my own soul that I believed evil of every other being.

As I thought of my furious words to Christine, the tears began to stream down my cheeks in a wild deluge. Memories rained down on me like hail, every recollection sending a sharp pain through my body. She must hate me! I knew she did—those beautiful lips had never before delivered such a fatal blow. But as much as she might despise me, she could never despise me as much as I despised myself!

Groaning in my despair, I remembered my cold reaction Christine's confession. What had it taken for her to tell me? Even then I could not accept I might be wrong, for if I was . . . if I was it would mean this! That I was the despicable creature I had always known myself to be, that once again, once again I was the sole cause of my own destruction.

The world had given me poison so many times before that I could not accept anything as pure and true, but ironically, by my own toxic touch, ruined the very elixir that was my salvation.

What she must have suffered! Victim to the perverted pleasure of the man she had killed in one lenient blow—when he should have suffered the torments of hell! I trembled with impotent rage, furious he was beyond my reach. Before directing my thoughts to one that was not—the blackguard who dared to threaten my Christine and press his unwanted kisses upon her—he would pay dearly for his presumption! I focused the torrent of my emotions onto that one creature, my boundless energy surging into a controlled fury—a terrifyingly purposeful rage.

If I did nothing else for Christine I would rid her of this pestilence!

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**Erik**

Darkness was falling, and I could feel my blood begin to hum in anticipation.

Tonight I would avenge Christine.

I looked down with grim satisfaction at the letter in my hands. I had written to Madame Giry earlier explaining to her that Christine had informed me of Reggie's blackmail, and politely requesting that gentleman's address. I had not informed her of my intentions, but I doubted she maintained any illusions.

In return she had sent me a brief note, merely containing the address, but that was all I needed.

When the sun had fully set, I donned a voluminous black cloak, its velvety folds enveloping my entire figure. I quietly exited my building, noting the dozing figure of the porter with satisfaction. As I stepped out into the darkness, I looked up, mentally paying tribute to the celestial orb whose gentle gaze had lighted my way countless times before. This night the moon was but a sliver of light, barely illuminating the sky, and entirely neglecting the streets of London. Unfortunately glaring electric lights occasionally flawed the beautiful dark of the night.

However, I adeptly avoided these, one with the shadows, as my gliding steps drew me ever nearer to my destination.

When I reached the address, I concealed myself, my crouching form just another shadow in the darkness. There could be sloppiness about this, so I would wait until my prey entered or exited the building, an elegant town house I observed—no doubt paid for by extortion.

My patience was endless, but my efforts were rewarded sooner than I had anticipated, and I felt a long forgotten thrill travel my body as I sighted my quarry.

I allowed him to enter the house, and waited for a few minutes before following. As the knob turned easily under my grasp, I sneered, reflecting on the foolishness of men. They thought themselves safe far too easily.

No servants were to be found in the hallway, and I soon sighted a lighted room, almost laughing at the ease of my entrance.

I paused briefly, pressing myself to wall just before the doorway, hoping my luck held, and that Reggie was indeed in this room.

Taking a breath, I focused my thoughts, centering on my intentions and reminding myself of all the torment this man had put Christine through. He had played with her, delighting in his power over a weaker being, but now he would find himself in that unenviable position. I did not mean his death to be quick.

I deliberately moved in front of the doorway, and my gaze took in the form of Reggie, lounging at a desk, calmly smoking a cigar, as he rifled through papers. I saw the room was a library, and I laughed, books were ever my constant companions, even now.

At the sound of my voice, Reggie looked up, fright and shock entering his eyes at the sight of me. His cigar fell from his lips, rolling over the desk, and to the floor, briefly singeing the carpet before the glow slowly died.

I turned, unhurriedly closing door, and as it clicked into place, I turned back to see Reggie jump to his feet.

"You have no right to be in my house—leave at once," he commanded.

I laughed softly, amused at his futile words.

His eyes widened and he demanded, "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I am the Angel of Death," I replied in a soft, silky voice—drawing back my hood to completely reveal my mask.

Terror filled his eyes, and he exclaimed, "You're Mad! Brooke! Brooke! There is a madman in the house!"

I silently drew back one side of my cloak, and slid my dagger from its sheath. Grasping the ornately carved handle affectionately, I lovingly turned it, allowing the light to reflect off of its wickedly curved form. I had obtained the weapon while in Persia, immediately drawn to both its efficiency and its beauty.

Death was, after all, an art.

"Oh God! Brooke, call for help! Why are you doing this? What have I ever done to you!"

"You have dared to sport with one Christine Daae," I informed him, my voice grim, advancing toward him with slow, deliberate steps.

"I know of no such person," he declared, a cornered look on his face, "I swear it! You have the wrong man!"

"Elise." I hissed, and with one swift move, sliced his right cheek.

His hand flew to his cheek, and he shoved the chair over, backing away. But recognition filled his eyes at the name Elise, and he truly began to shake with fear.

"What is it you want from me?" he asked desperately.

"Only your silence," I informed him, my tone cold and hard, and my dagger flashed through the air once again, slashing his other cheek.

He gasped in pain, and pleaded in a panicked voice, "I swear to you I will say nothing."

"I intend to make sure of that."

As the meaning of my words sunk in, he darted out from behind the desk in a frenzied move. Unrelentingly I pursued him, and before he knew it, had him pressed up against me in an iron grip. He struggled briefly, before freezing as he felt the cold steel of my knife caress his throat. Tauntingly, I ran the knife back and forth across his skin, increasing the pressure gradually, until blood ran.

Then I abruptly thrust him away from me, and I saw hope enter his eyes. An emotion I swiftly banished by lacerating his arm with one deep cut. He cried out in pain, the other hand instinctively feeling the wound, and he stared in horror at the blood that it came away with.

In desperation, he grabbed a bottle of brandy, resting on the library sideboard, and recklessly ran toward me, attempting to smash me over the head.

I easily stepped out of the way, and the bottle came down upon the desk, burgundy liquid staining the papers.

Sheathing my knife, I grabbed his injured arm, and turned him around swiftly, before grasping his throat, easily lifting him off the ground.

He choked, his arms flailing uselessly, and I lowered him until I had him shoved up against the desk—cruelly pressing his back onto the shards of glass from the broken brandy bottle.

As his face began to turn an alarming color, I released him, and pulling him up, thrust him towards the door.

He was facing me, and wild hope filled his eyes, as he began to slowly back away towards the door. Then, just as he was about to turn, sure of his escape, I whipped out the Punjab lasso, breaking his neck with one swift jerk.

As he fell, one arm violently hit the shelf just behind him, and books tumbled off, covering his body in a jumbled pile.

How poetic, I thought, that the books should convey their approval by burying my victim for me.

I briefly bent to feel his pulse, one could never be too cautious, and feeling nothing rose. I pulled the hood back over my head, and exited the room. Keeping my face averted, I could see the cowering form of a man in the shadows, but I ignored him.

No one tried to stop as I left the house, and I quickly walked towards my home, triumph surging through my veins.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Max**

Strolling cheerfully down the street, I made my way to Reggie's house. I had not been to visit the young scoundrel in a while, and it was high time I bothered him again.

Reflecting affectionately on my younger brother, I wondered for the umpteenth time, where he found the money to live as he did—without being in debt. I myself owed thousands, and had several times only barely avoided being thrown into debtor's prison. Quickly dismissing the matter from my mind, I whistled happily. Earlier tonight I had been quite successful in my advances on a charming little bird. I was reflecting cheerfully on this tempting armful, when I caught sight of a very strange looking fellow.

He briskly strode past me, almost entirely covered by a great black cloak, and under the hood, his face glinted a weird white.

How strange, I thought, the get-up fellows are into these days. Shaking my head disapprovingly, I mounted the stairs to Reggie's house, and rapped on the door.

It was quite some time before the door opened, and I was just getting irritated when the doorknob began to turn. Brooke must have been imbibing in liquor again, I decided, as the door slowly opened. Whatever was the man doing? Brooke peered through the barely opened door with a very queer expression on his face; however, when he saw me he gave a gasp, "Oh! Lord Charlbury, such a relief!"

"Whatever are you talking about man? Stop standing there in that stupid manner and let me in!"

He obediently opened the door wide, and I entered, thinking that I must really speak to my brother about Brooke. This simply was not acceptable.

Brooke did not close the door, but still stood there, gawking at me.

"Well, where is he?" I demanded.

"Sir . . .I think I should tell you . . .well . . .go look for yourself—in the library," he stuttered.

I stared at him, what on earth?

Abruptly I strode towards the library, and opening the door, almost immediately stumbled over something. With a sick feeling, I looked down, and realized that something was my brother.

He was lying there, books strewn over his person, his eyes wide open and bulging.

Oh God! I fell to my knees and grasped his wrist, frantically feeling for a pulse. But what I already knew was confirmed. Reggie was dead.

"Brooke," I roared. But the man was just behind me, "How," I growled, "Did this happen? And what has been done?"

"There was a man, he . . . he came into the house without my knowledge. I heard Mr. Grantham calling for me. But I dared not open the door."

"Good God, are you a complete coward!"

The man trembled beneath my furious gaze, and I wanted to beat him for his cowardice, but I shifted my mind to more pressing matters.

"Have you rung the police?"

"No . . . no, sir, I was about to ring the doctor when you knocked."

"The doctor! It's too late for that! Damn you, why did you not ring the police while Reggie was being attacked! Did my brother install that infernal contraption for nothing!"

The man looked like he was about to whimper, and in disgust I turned from him, strode to the telephone, and picked up the listening receiver. The operator answered and I brusquely requested the Metropolitan Police Force. I informed them of situation, and they promised to be there quickly. With a sigh a replaced the receiver, and eyed the library, should I go back in there?

No, I decided to question the sniveling butler, and discover what else he knew.

"Brooke!" I bit out.

"Yes sir?" he asked weakly.

"Did you see the man?"

"Well . . .kind of" he said in an unsure voice.

"Good god man, either you saw him or you didn't, which is it!"

"Well . . . you see, he was wearing a black cloak that completely covered him. I did not even see his face."

I stood there stunned. I had seen my own brother's murderer coming from the crime scene. Reggie's blood no doubt, still on his hands.

The man with the glinting white face.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

I was sitting in the parlor reading when Antoinette entered, a letter in her hand.

"Christine, this has just come for you by messenger boy."

She handed me the envelope, and I thanked her. She stood looking at me for just a moment with a curious expression in her eyes before leaving the room.

I saw the letter was from Erik, and unbidden, my heart beat quickened.

I swiftly broke the seal, and began reading.

_Christine,_

_I am writing to inform you that a certain gentleman who has been bothering you need trouble you no longer. I have taken measures to make sure he will never worry you again._

_I wish to offer you my deepest apologies for the misunderstanding between us, and, I hope that, in time, you will come to forgive me. You need not worry that I will trouble you any longer. I intend to quit this country, and return to France, I have stayed here too long. _

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_Erik_

What did it all mean? He had "taken measures" to ensure that Reggie would not trouble me again? With Erik I must assume the worst. Even as I read this letter, Reggie must be dead.

I felt a glorious feeling of relief flood through me. Not only was I financially free now, but I was also free of the secret that had plagued me for so long. And all thanks to Erik. Erik had done this for me! I felt a rush of affection towards him, and abruptly remembered the second part of the letter.

Erik was leaving! I hesitated, what should I do?

At that moment Antoinette walked into the room.

"Well, what did he say?" she inquired.

"He says . . .he says what I can only assume means that Reggie is dead. Here read it for yourself."

I gave her the letter, and averted my eyes as she quickly read through it.

"So Erik has dealt with him. It is as I had hoped."

"You hoped? How did you know?"

"My dear, the most elementary knowledge of Erik should tell you that he would not let your blackmailer, the tormenter of the woman he loved, live."

I looked down, and said in a low voice, "Our elementary knowledge of Erik would seem to differ, you believe he loves me."

Upon my words, Antoinette did something I had never seen her do before, she rolled her eyes.

"On that subject we shall continue to disagree, however I will admit I had some prior knowledge. Erik wrote asking me for Reggie's address."

"What! And you did not tell me! After reproaching me for keeping things from you?"

"I did not wish to raise your hopes, however that is beside the point, are you really going to let Erik leave London without you?"

"Without me? How . . .how could I go with him? He has not asked me!"

"He would take you on feeblest excuse my dear, and he would be gladly take Belle as well. I have a suspicion that he has formed an attachment to your daughter."

"I don't know. I mean our house . . ."

"You have been planning on moving as soon as you were able for many years now. This is the perfect opportunity. In fact, leaving London will be very wise, just in case there is any trouble over Mr. Grantham's death."

"I . . .I will think about it."

"I suggest you do not think about for too long, or you will find Erik gone."

With those words she left me to ponder the situation. I trembled. Did I dare ask Erik to travel with us to Paris? Did I want to? Wasn't I still angry with him? But as hard I tried to remember the fury of the night before, my happiness at finally being free of Reggie--and knowing Erik was my rescuer--seemed crush the anger, and all I could call up was a faint echo.

But Paris? Could I really return to that city which held so many memories? But I realized that this city held many bad memories as well. I did not have to live in Paris; we could live in the countryside. I could take Belle to France, and expose her to her mother country while she was still young.

But would I do all this with Erik? Would Erik want to?

(a/n)Hehe, I almost called this chapter "Nothing says I love you like a murder." Thanks for reading. Review! Review! Review!(a/n)


	11. Angel or Father, Friend or Phantom?

(a/n) This is my longest chapter yet! I hope you don't mind. It's funny, because I really had the least amount of time—test and papers you know.

As always, I adore my reviewers, you guys keep me motivated.

Padme Nijiri: Thank you very much! I'm glad you like Erik's darker side. I have always loved it myself. It gives me shivers. Thanks for your commentary on the E/C relationship. I do intend to work on that. Do you think I should have developed it more in the earlier chapters though? Or will it be fine to do it now?

Sue Raven: Yes Erik is a law unto himself. Glad you like Mme. Giry!

LostSchizophrenic: Ha, Christine better have some backbone, that's one of the premises of this story.

Ziroana: Hehe, well you got what you wanted . . . kind of. I'm glad you liked the revenge!

Emily: Yes Erik is being very hypocritical. But its like when someone calls your sister a name: you can do it—but no else can. Besides Erik's manipulation was different . . . after all, he loved her. . . Hehe I'm glad you uh "don't" approve of Erik's actions.

Unseenhope18: Awww, thanks so much for compliments on that line. One of my favorites too—glad when people notice my little poetic touches. Of course I don't mind if you use it! I'm honored!

GoldenLyre: Glad to see you enjoyed Reggie's death so much! I definitely worked on it enough. Do you think its unhealthy to fall asleep thinking of ways to torture and kill someone?

SugarPeaches: Thank you! I'm honored to hear you tune in every day to see if more chapters were added! I try to get one in every two days—although I don't want to make promises.

Forever in a bottle: Thank you! You have been such a faithful reviewer!

Witchy-grrl: Ha, your reviews always make me laugh. Doesn't every girl dream of having a man willing to kill for her? Hehe.

Erik'sangel527: Actually I wondered where you were. Hehe, but I trusted you would come through in the end. Thanks for saying this was my best chapter! I do hope my writing is improving as I go.

Leesainthesky: I know, why giver your love chocolates when you can present her with a corpse? Okay, I think I thought about ways to kill Reggie for too long . . .

Ae28: Thank you, and welcome to the story!

I hope you guys enjoy!(a/n)

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

Taking a deep breath, I knocked on the door, forcing some confidence into the action.

There was no answer, and disappointment flooded through me. What if he was already gone? Unwilling to give up, I called out, a trace of panic in my voice "Erik, it's Christine."

The door opened with startling swiftness, and Erik stood there, an unreadable expression on his face. He took my arm and gently pulled me through the door, silently closing it behind him.

Once inside, he dropped my arm abruptly, and asked in quiet voice, "I am surprised to see you here, what can I do for you?"

His tone was carefully neutral, and I found myself frustrated, as I tried to gain some idea of what he was thinking. I pulled Erik's letter from my reticule, and asked "I wished to completely understand the contents of this letter. When you say . . . do you mean to tell me that Reggie is dead?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he replied stiffly, "Yes that is exactly what I meant. Does this disturb you?"

"Quite the contrary," I said deliberately, wanting to leave him with no doubt in his mind, "I don't remember feeling so free in a long time."

I heard him let out an almost imperceptible breath, and I thought I saw just the faintest tinge of relief in his eyes.

Trying to decide which direction to take, I stood there for a moment at a loss for words. I felt as if a wall had been erected between us, and I did not know how tear it down. Antoinette had said she was sure he would take me on feeblest excuse, but doubt was swiftly undermining my confidence with insidious whispers.

"If that is all . . ."

"No," I said quickly, before my courage completely deserted me, "Do you think there will be any trouble over Reggie?"

"I highly doubt there will be any trouble for you," he answered, his face as impenetrable as ever.

"Well," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "You are leaving London, and . . . well it sounds like a good idea."

His face hardened a little at this, and I suddenly realized how my words could be interpreted.

"No . . ." I stumbled, "I mean it sounds like it a good idea for me as well."

I saw surprise, and perhaps a flicker of hope, enter his eyes briefly, and encouraged, I continued.

"I always intended to move away from London, when I . . . well, discontinued my present lifestyle. England does not really contain any happy memories for me, except Belle, and since I am going to move I might as well return to France."

He said nothing, and desperately searching his face, I faltered on, "I think it would be good for Belle, after all, it is almost her mother country. France is as much a home to me as I ever had. I have some very happy memories of my father there, and . . . _other_ happy memories from the Opera House."

I looked up at him through my lashes to see how he was reacting, and saw that his eyes had grown colder. This was not going well! Did he think my happy memories were with Raoul? I desperately wanted to disabuse him of this notion, but I was unsure of how to continue.

Before I could say anything else, he spoke, "I don't quite understand what the issue is here Christine. Do you want my advice? I think moving to France would be a good idea. If you think it is wise to uproot Belle."

"Oh," I said, glad of the distraction, "I am afraid she is quite a loner; although she never seems unhappy at school, she doesn't really have any close friends. Also she knows French very well; Madame Giry and I have made sure of that."

He frowned, "She is a charming child, she should have a horde of friends."

"Well, she can be very dreamy, and I think that some of the children may consider her odd."

He scowled, "Why must people always shun what is different?"

I smiled, warmed by his concern, "I don't know," I said pointedly, "I, for one, am very fond of _different_ people."

He stared at me, an arrested expression in his eyes, and I could hear his breathing quicken. Then to my surprise, he abruptly said, "I have a great deal to do before I depart so if you are finished . . ."

Confused, I asked, "Erik, what about me moving to France?"

"I hardly see how the details concern me," he replied unencouragingly.

I took a deep breath, it was now or never, "I had hoped that we could . . .that you could help me with the arrangements . . .that we could travel together."

I saw a look of refusal on his face, and rushed on, my words calculated to appeal to his chivalrous instincts, "I know I haven't told you much about my past Erik, but the truth is I've never had to deal with such arrangements before. And I can't help but feel we would be safer if you were with us."

Abruptly, he turned away from me, "Christine," he said, his deep voice husky with emotion, "I don't understand how you can even be here, much less ask me to travel with you. I have treated you horribly—brutally! How can you even bear to look at me!"

My heart throbbed painfully in my chest, and I felt a rush of happiness at his words. He must care! I quickly moved forward, and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn towards me.

"Oh Erik! I am also to blame. I . . . I didn't tell you about Reggie. You could not have known! I was very angry that night, and very hurt, I admit it. You wounded me when you would not believe me. And yet what reason have I given you to trust me? And I can never thank you enough for freeing me from Reggie, and before that, well you have freed me financially as well. You truly are my guardian angel!"

He felt him tremble under my grasp, and his eyes darkened with some imperceptible emotion.

"Does this mean you have forgiven me?"

"Yes," I said, infusing that one word with all the longing I felt.

He closed his eyes, as if in pain, and I felt panicked; I didn't want him to withdraw from me now.

Slowly, deliberately, I twined my arms about his neck, and he opened his eyes, looking at me disbelievingly, "Kiss me Erik," I begged.

He stared at me searchingly for just a moment, then his arms came round me tightly, almost crushing the breath out of me. His lips descended on mine, bruising me with the force of his passion. But I ardently returned the kiss, eagerly parting my lips to admit his thrusting tongue. I could feel his hands roaming my body, in an almost frenzied manner, creating the most delicious sensations.

Abruptly he pulled back, "Damn!"

I looked up at him confused, and was about to ask what was wrong when I heard a man's voice coming from outside the door.

"Erik, it's James."

He sent me a swift message with his eyes, and I obediently retreated to the parlor. I felt a blush heat my cheeks, I had been so absorbed I must not have even heard James knock. As I hurriedly smoothed my hair, and straightened my dress, I heard Erik open the door. There was muted conversation, and then I heard their footsteps approaching.

James entered the room, and stopped abruptly when he saw me—a surprised look on his face, and dawning comprehension in his eyes.

He looked swiftly back and forth at Erik and me, before speaking, "This is the lady that will be traveling with you Erik?"

I felt a glad thump of my heart at hearing my hopes confirmed. Erik must have told him of the change while in the hall.

"Yes," Erik replied, "I believe you two know each other. We deceived you the other day James, when you introduced us. Elise and I have known each other for a long time."

It sounded so odd to hear the name Elise upon his lips, and I was not entirely sure I liked it. However, it was necessary I supposed.

"Are you making the travel arrangements James?" I asked in a soft voice, "If so, I want to thank you for your help."

"Yes," he replied, still looking a little dazed, "Erik has asked me to, although I almost refused him, since I will be losing a very valuable business partner. I may have to follow him to France, if he would have me."

"I don't know if you could ever accustom yourself to the French, James." Erik said, an amused look in his eye.

"Ah well, they are damned odd sometimes, no offense meant."

"No offense taken," I replied, with a little laugh.

"So," James said, a questioning look in his eyes, "You will be traveling with an older lady and little girl as well?"

"Yes," I answered, shamelessly perjuring myself, "The older woman is like a mother to me, and the girl is her granddaughter. She has taken care of the child ever since her own daughter passed away."

"Ah," James said, nodding his head, "Well I had already arranged for Erik to travel on a private steamer from Dover to Calais. I believe the captain will be able to take on three more passengers; however, you may be cramped."

"A private steamer?" I asked, my eyes questioning.

"Yes, just a merchant," then he glanced at Erik.

"I requested James to arrange passage for me on a private ship. I believe that I would be more comfortable there," Erik said, an unspoken message in his eyes.

Of course, if the ship was embarking on a long voyage, Erik would be much harder to trace. The packet steamers could easily be questioned since they crossed the channel regularly.

James began speaking again, directing his words to Erik, "You can easily purchase tickets for the train from London to Dover. When you get to France, you can put up at an inn while you make arrangements. I will contact you again tomorrow, after I have confirmed the new number of passengers with the captain."

"Thank you, James," Erik said with quiet grace, "Elise, do you need him to do anything for you?"

"No, but how many days are we talking about?"

James laughed, "Forgive me, the ship leaves in three days from Dover, I know its not very much time, but Erik requested to leave within a week."

"Is that enough time for you Elise?" Erik asked.

I would have to go to the bank, and pack, but if Antoinette and I worked hard we should be able to get done in time. Then, with a start, I remembered the house. Should I sell it?

"Yes that will be enough time, but Erik, the house . . . I don't know if I want to sell or not."

"Don't worry, whatever you decide can be dealt with after we are already in France."

"Alright," I said.

"Well, I will take my leave now," James said, "I have much to do."

Erik escorted James to hallway, and I heard more muted conversation before the door shut.

As Erik's footsteps approached the room, my heart began beating painfully, and when he entered I felt my cheeks heat up under his intense gaze.

"I suppose I have much to do as well," I said, my voice unsteady. "Erik, I cannot thank you enough . . ."

He waved away my words with gesture of his hands, and his eyes glowed with emotion as he said, "You already have. Shall I see you home?"

"No," I answered, "I have a few errands I need to run first."

"Then I wish you a good day," Erik said, stepping back to allow my exit.

And with a little glance back at Erik, I left his rooms, my heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

The last few days had been filled with a multitude of activities in preparation for our departure. I had canceled milk delivery, turned off the big house's servants—with pay of course, dealt with financial issues, and packed and packed and packed.

I had already informed Belle that we were leaving, and although she appeared sad to be leaving the cottage, informing me she must say goodbye to all the creatures in the garden, she did not seem overly concerned with the move. However, I had not told Belle who our traveling companion would be, and I must admit that I had been putting it off.

But I could no longer put it off, it was the night before we were to depart, and Erik was going to visit our house that night in order to go over the details of the trip before we left.

So I apprehensively sought her out, and informed her we needed to have a little talk.

"Alright," she agreed, "have I done something wrong?"

"Oh, no," I answered, as we walked to the parlor, "It's just something about the move."

Once inside the parlor, we both sat down, and I looked down at her fondly.

"We will have someone traveling with us to France, my dear, and it is someone you know."

She drew in a breath, but looked puzzled, "Who is it?"

"A gentlemen you have spoken to before, although I told you not to."

She gave an excited gasp, "Oh! Mister . . .mister . . . " then she frowned, "I don't even know his name!"

"His name is M. Legard," I told her, purposefully omitting his first name.

She clapped her hands, "How exciting, oh I am so glad!"

"I see you like him?"

"Oh very much! He is very interesting, and kind as well. He doesn't talk to me like other grownups do. You don't of course, but everyone else always speaks to me like I am stupid. He doesn't!"

"Well I am glad." I said, wondering that Erik should have made such a connection with my daughter, but very happy that it should be so.

A couple hours later, after we had all had dinner, I heard knock on the door. Knowing it must be Erik, I steadied my nerves, before going to open the door.

There he stood, and my heart tightened, as it always did at the sight of his tall figure.

"Hello, Erik," I said softly, and a little shyly, "Come in."

I had just closed the door behind him, when I heard him speak to Belle.

"Hello again Belle, we will be spending some time together in the future. Does that make you happy?"

I turned and noticed that my daughter had a rather shell-shocked expression on her face. When she did not speak, I asked her with a frown, "Belle, what is the matter?"

Erik exchanged a concerned glance with me, before Belle suddenly said accusingly, "You called him Erik!"

Oh no, I thought, but surely she could not think . . .

"Are you my father?" she demanded of Erik.

Before Erik could reply, I quickly interjected, "There are other men with the name Erik my dear. Besides you know your father died before you were born."

She stamped her foot angrily, "You could have just told me that, besides other men don't visit us here, only the priest sometimes, and he doesn't count."

"Belle . . ."

"You are! You are! I know it!" she announced, her voice half certain, half hopeful.

I sighed, she wanted a father so much.

"What is all this noise about?" Antoinette asked, entering the fray. "Ah I see M. Legard has arrived."

Belle's lips trembled, "Aunt, his name is Erik!"

I saw comprehension quickly enter Antoinette's eyes, and she swiftly took Belle's arm, "Come with me, I will make you a cup of hot cocoa, while we leave your mother and M. Legard to talk."

"I don't want hot cocoa," Belle protested, but she allowed herself to be led away.

I swiftly took Erik into the parlor, and closed the door behind us.

"Well," I said, a little shame faced, "I am sure you must be wondering what that was all about."

"Christine, allow me save you some trouble," Erik said gently, "You see Belle has told me all about her father already, and that was how I first knew she must be your daughter."

"Oh," I said inadequately, my cheeks burning. "Well you must be wondering why I described you as her father."

I was silent a minute before continuing, Erik's eyes watching me sympathetically, "You see . . ." I started, then stopped, "I . . . oh this is so hard!"

"Christine, we don't have talk that about right now. I understand it has to be difficult for you. I am very honored though that you deemed me worthy to be described as the father of your child, that you even wished to speak of me."

I blushed . . . again, I had blushed more in the last few weeks than I had in the years I had been a courtesan. Oh what must he be thinking? Did he imagine he knew why this was so hard for me? How had interpreted my making him Belle's father? If this did not make my emotions patently obvious, I didn't know what else would!

"Christine, I want you to know . . ." Erik said, looking adorably hesitant, "I wouldn't mind if Belle believed me to be her father . . . that is if you don't mind."

My heart jumped to my throat. Mind? Of course I didn't mind, but that couldn't happen, Erik could not have considered the implications, he didn't know what it was to belong to a child. "Erik I couldn't ask that of you! You do realize you could just walk away, or even visit every once in a while. You would have to be a constant presence in her life."

His eyes shuttered, and he said stiffly, "It was just a suggestion, I quite understand if you don't want me in Belle's life that way."

"Erik, its not . . ."

"Forget it!" he said sharply.

"No! I need you to understand! I am not questioning this because I don't want you in Belle's life. Quite the contrary, you seem to have quite a connection with my daughter, but I just don't know if you realize the responsibility you would be shouldering. You have never had someone depend upon you."

"No," he said, his gaze darkening, "I have not."

I winced, realizing how thoughtless my words were, "But if you want to . . . well, I have no objection. In fact, I think it would be wonderful, Belle dearly needs a male influence in her life."

He face softened, and he looked at me wonderingly, "You really wouldn't mind?" he asked, his voice slightly husky.

"Have I not said so?"

"You do realize that would mean you would also see me regularly?"

I looked down shyly, but said steadily, "I don't think that would be a problem at all."

"Oh Christine . . ." Erik said, his tone filled with pleasure.

But before he could continue, we heard Belle's upraised voice in the distance, "Aunt please, please let me go to the parlor!"

Our eyes met in laughter, and I felt my heart skip dangerously.

"Well," I asked, "Are we agreed then? I could give you time to think about it, but Erik, if we are to tell her you are her father, now would really be the best time."

"I don't have a doubt in my mind," Erik replied emphatically, his golden eyes glowing.

"Lets go to the kitchen then," I said, unable to restrain a wide smile.

"Wait," Erik said, and I felt little anxious flutters in my stomach, was he rethinking? "What are we going to tell her about my supposed death?"

I frowned. I had forgotten that! "Well I can say I thought you were dead . . , oh I do hate lying to Belle so. But I cannot tell her the truth, and this, this would make her so happy."

Erik did not reply, but seemed lost in thought, finally he said, "We both believed that the other died in the Opera House fire. Bodies were discovered, but they were too burned to be recognizable. Since we never found each other, we had to assume that one of the bodies was our . . . spouse?"

Suddenly he looked at me, a question clear in his eyes. Feeling overwhelmed, I replied, "We can cross that bridge when we come to it. I think though that Belle won't ask if we don't make it an issue."

He looked at me, his gaze intense, but said slowly, "Alright."

I think we both knew it would become an issue soon enough, and perhaps, we both wanted it to be one.

"To the kitchen then!" I said, drawing a deep breath.

We walked down the hall, to the kitchen, at the back of the house. As soon as Belle sighted us, she jumped up, a questioning look on her face.

"Sit back down my dear," I told her, sitting down at the kitchen table myself. Erik followed suit, and I almost laughed. It felt so strange to see him seated here, at my cottage kitchen table.

"Belle, I am sorry I did not tell you earlier, but this gentleman is indeed your father. We thought each other dead, or else we should never have parted. There was a fire at the Opera House we both, umm, worked at, and we were separated. He did not even know you were his daughter until you told him about your father, after that he had to speak with me."

"I knew it!" Belle announced, joy filling her voice, she jumped out her chair again and ran over to Erik, throwing her arms about him.

I could see Erik's startled expression, and my heart warmed to see his arms slowly close around Belle. Oh God! If only it had been true. If only Erik was Belle's father and we had always been together! I swiftly repressed those thoughts, it would do no good to think of what could have been. Think of what you have now, I scolded myself. Life has surely changed for the better!

I could feel tears start my eyes, and looking over at Erik I saw that his eyes looked a little watery as well.

"Come on," Belle said, "I wanted to show you my room," her brow puckered, "although it is messy because of moving, but that's okay."

As Belle led Erik out of the room by his hand, I heard a low laugh. I turned to see Antoinette, who had watched the proceedings with great interest. She began laughing in earnest, the sound of her mirth filling the room.

I frowned, putting my hand on my hips, "Whatever do you find so funny?"

Between laughs she said, "You two are best amusement I have had in years! All this nonsense to avoid having to actually tell each other your true feelings, but please don't confess all now! I can hardly wait to see what will happen next!"

(a/n)Well I hope you like it! I will be putting some of Erik's feelings on these events into the next chapter, so don't worry too much about that. Would you have preferred either of these scenes to be in Erik's POV? If so, which one? Just curious. Don't forget to REVIEW!(a/n)


	12. The Music of the Night

(a/n) Sorry for taking so long! I have been swamped with school work.

Kisses and hugs to all my reviewers, you are definitely my inspiration, without you I would never be half this industrious. I love you all: PhantomPhoenix, Padme Nijiri, Sue Raven, Crying Wasteland, erik'sangel527, Sugar Peaches, ae28, Ziroana, Kate, Leesainthesky, Monroe-mary, angelofnight, forever in a bottle, meneyavewen, Emily singing reflection, erikslil'angel1209, jlauren1224, and Misty Breyer.

Misty Breyer: Last scene in Erik's POV it is!

Jlauren1224: well I had no specific plans of bringing in Nadir, but it could be arranged, I'll see what I can do. I think they enjoy each other in this chapter . . . snickers. Thanks for the compliments!

Angelofnight: I really hope that you like my writing better, because it actually is better. But either way, thanks!

Monroe-mary: you were cracking me up with all your speculation. All shall be revealed in time. Muhahahaha.

Leesainthesky: Yay, that is one of my favorite lines too.

Ziroana: Sweet and fluffy huh . . .

Erik'sangel527: You are my angel as ever!

Crying Wasteland: Yes the killing was rather . . . romantic wasn't it. Hehe, I'm glad I can overcome everyone's scruples so easily. :rubs hands together evilly:

Sue Raven: I know I like long chapters, when I read them. I just didn't want people to think it was dragging on.

Padme Nijiri: Yeah, I know the relationship involved a lot of assumption, maybe one day I will go and revamp all of the earlier stuff. Thanks for telling me about the name mistakes, hopefully I got them all.

This chapter is especially long because I included a counterpoint from the last scene in the last chapter. There is Kay quote in here that should be very recognizable. In one scene the POV changes right in the middle of it, I hope you aren't confused. Anyway, enjoy!(a/n)

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Erik, Counterpoint**

I walked quickly on the now familiar route, by instinct turning the corners that would lead me to the cottage. Reflecting on the events of the past few days, I could hardly believe what was going on. It was simple really; I was just assisting Christine with her travel arrangements, and escorting her to Paris. However, this simple act held a wealth of meaning. Considering how I had treated Christine, I was surprised she even wished to see me, but asking me to do this for her conveyed trust, and an intimate relationship, that I wished for, but had to admit, did not exist.

I had asked myself the meaning of it repeatedly already, each time cursing myself for my speculation. My sensible side firmly insisted she just needed my help, but my heart, (which I admittedly tended to listen to more), told me there was more to it—there had to be.

Opening the gate in Christine's garden, I felt a pang of sadness for Belle, she would miss her fairytale creatures. With a frown, I realized I could not see Belle living directly in the city, she needed large gardens, fresh air, and bright sunlight—not the tiny plots, smog, and weak sunlight of the city. I had neglected to ask Christine what she intended to do once we reached Paris, but then again, perhaps she would not welcome my questions.

I stepped up to the door and knocked. In a moment it opened, and Christine stood there, charmingly attired in a simple gown. I realized that as much as I enjoyed seeing her in her fashionable splendor, this unadorned dress reminded me of a younger Christine.

"Hello, Erik," she said softly, an unaccustomed shyness in her eyes, "Come in."

As I entered, I saw Belle standing in the hall, a shocked look on her face. Surmising that she was surprised to see me, I approached her with a smile.

"Hello again Belle, we will be spending some time together in the future. Does that make you happy?"

But she did not reply, eyes wide, her face grew more upset by the minute, and I felt a tremor of alarm run through me. Before I could speak, I heard Christine sharply ask from behind me, "Belle, what is the matter?"

I looked over at Christine, our eyes meeting in mutual concern, before Belle suddenly said accusingly, "You called him Erik!"

Realization struck me, she had heard my name, a name I shared with her 'father', and she clearly thought it meant something. But she hardly looked happy, and I felt my heart sink.

"Are you my father?" she demanded, her eyes bright and searching.

Those words hit me like a blow, striking the breath out of me, emotions rampaging through my being. Simultaneously, I felt longing, doubt, and the dread fear of Belle's rejection. Before I had more time to think, to speak, Christine quickly interjected, "There are other men with the name Erik my dear. Besides you know your father died before you were born."

Abruptly I realized that Christine did not know that I knew . . . things were so complicated. Then I also wondered why Belle had assumed my name meant something so fantastic—so unbelievable.

Stamping her foot angrily, Belle partially answered my question, "You could have just told me that, besides other men don't visit us here, only the priest sometimes, and he doesn't count."

Interesting.

"Belle . . ." Christine started, but was interrupted by Belle once again.

"You are! You are! I know it!" she announced, addressing me, and this time I unmistakably heard hope in her voice.

Did she want me to be her father? Although I knew it to be impossible, the thought made me sickeningly happy. Why was it impossible? I suddenly thought rebelliously. Belle needed a father didn't she?

"What is all this noise about?" Madame Giry asked, entering the fray. "Ah I see M. Legard has arrived."

I sardonically smiled at her in greeting, no doubt she blamed me for the fracas.

I heard Belle blurt out, a tremor in her voice, "Aunt, his name is Erik!"

Ever perceptive, Antoinette swiftly took Belle's arm, "Come with me, I will make you a cup of hot cocoa, while we leave your mother and M. Legard to talk."

"I don't want hot cocoa," Belle protested, but she allowed herself to be led away.

As they left, I turned to Christine, but she did not speak, grasping my arm and leading me to the parlor.

Once inside, she spoke, her face flushed with embarrassment, "Well, I am sure you must be wondering what that was all about."

Feeling sympathy for her predicament, I sought to lessen her tension, "Christine, allow me save you some trouble. You see Belle has told me all about her father already, and that was how I first knew she must be your daughter."

"Oh," she said, her face turning even redder, but she bravely continued, "Well you must be wondering why I described you as her father."

She was silent a minute before continuing, and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes, "You see . . ." she started, then stopped, "I . . . oh this is so hard!"

Her faltering words were painful to my ears, she was clearly mortified, and I could not bear to see her discomfort. This was hardly the time for this confidence anyway, "Christine, we don't have talk that about right now. I understand it has to be difficult for you. I am very honored though that you deemed me worthy to be described as the father of your child, that you even wished to speak of me."

The flush rose in her cheeks again, and I almost laughed, wondering how she could blush so readily considering her chequered past. She looked at me, emotions chasing over her face, and reflecting on her embarrassment, I wondered anew at her description of me as Belle's father. I felt a hesitant flicker of hope, perhaps if she could do that she would not be averse to actually have Belle think me her father . . .

"Christine, I want you to know . . ." I said, my heart in my throat as I forced the words out, "I wouldn't mind if Belle believed me to be her father . . . that is if you don't mind."

Although Christine did not look immediately happy, she did not look disgusted either, and held my breath, waiting for her reply, but she exclaimed, "Erik I couldn't ask that of you! You do realize you could just walk away, or even visit every once in a while. You would have to be a constant presence in her life."

Of course she didn't want that! How could I be so stupid? Swiftly I sought to retract my words, pretend they weren't important, "It was just a suggestion, I quite understand if you don't want me in Belle's life that way."

"Erik, its not . . ." she said, but I didn't want her to try and explain herself.

"Forget it!" I bit out sharply, wishing I had never said anything.

"No! I need you to understand! I am not questioning this because I don't want you in Belle's life. Quite the contrary, you seem to have quite a connection with my daughter, but I just don't know if you realize the responsibility you would be shouldering. You have never had someone depend upon you."

She thought I had a connection with Belle? That soothed my hurt feelings slightly, but her last words stung. I didn't need to be reminded I had never really been a part of a family, that I had certainly never had anyone to support, to look after.

"No," I replied, "I have not."

She winced, quickly saying, "But if you want to . . . well, I have no objection. In fact, I think it would be wonderful, Belle dearly needs a male influence in her life."

She thought it would be wonderful? My heart leapt, and suddenly I was just as happy as I been depressed just a few moments ago. I could hardly believe it, even when I had first made my suggestion, I admit I had not thought through the ramifications. But when Christine's words had sunk in, I had immediately realized this was a prize I could not have, and if I had thought about it beforehand, I would never have asked to begin with. But now she was saying that she had no objection . . . that she wouldn't mind!

I forced my voice into speech, "You really wouldn't mind?" I asked, my voice husky with emotion, half expecting rejection.

But she emphatically replied, "Have I not said so?"

Still disbelieving, I had to know if she understood exactly what she was saying, "You do realize that would mean you would also see me regularly?"

She shyly met my gaze, saying steadily, "I don't think that would be a problem at all."

My heart filled with pleasure, happy for even this small concession, "Oh Christine . . ."

But before I could continue, we heard Belle's upraised voice in the distance, "Aunt please, please let me go to the parlor!"

Our eyes met in laughter, and I felt my heart skip dangerously.

"Well," Christine asked, "Are we agreed then? I could give you time to think about it, but Erik, if we are to tell her you are her father, now would really be the best time."

"I don't have a doubt in my mind," I replied with certainty, there was only one thing I had ever wanted more!

"Lets go to the kitchen then," she said, smiling widely, and I felt my entire being respond.

I was about to follow, when I had a sudden thought, "Wait," I said, "What are we going to tell her about my supposed death?"

Christine frowned, and slowly replied, "Well I can say I thought you were dead . . , oh I do hate lying to Belle so. But I cannot tell her the truth, and this, this would make her so happy."

This would make me so happy! I thought, before directing my mind to the problem at hand, finally I said, "We both believed that the other died in the Opera House fire. Bodies were discovered, but they were too burned to be recognizable. Since we never found each other, we had to assume that one of the bodies was our . . . spouse?"

What would we tell Belle about that? Either she was illegitimate, or . . . we had been married . . . and still were! It seemed an insurmountable barrier. Christine surely would not want to say either of those things, but she replied placidly, "We can cross that bridge when we come to it. I think though that Belle won't ask if we don't make it an issue."

She must know what the inevitable outcome would be? Or was she willing to tell her daughter she was a bastard? Well she had said we would cross that bridge when we came to it. I stared at her intently, slowly replying, "Alright."

"To the kitchen then!" she said, drawing a deep breath.

We walked down the hall, to the kitchen, at the back of the house. As soon as Belle sighted us, she jumped up, a questioning look on her face. I felt nerves attack my stomach. How would she reply? What would be her reaction?

"Sit back down my dear," Christine told her, sitting down at the kitchen table herself, and I Erik followed suit, feeling ridiculously domestic. It felt so strange to be seated here, at Christine's cottage kitchen table.

Christine began to speak, telling the story in one rush, "Belle, I am sorry I did not tell you earlier, but this gentleman is indeed your father. We thought each other dead, or else we should never have parted. There was a fire at the Opera House we both, umm, worked at, and we were separated. He did not even know you were his daughter until you told him about your father, after that he had to speak with me."

For one sickening second Belle said nothing, but then she jumped up, announcing "I knew it!" joy actually filling her voice, and pouring out into my heart.

Then before I knew it she had thrown herself at me, her arms firmly clasping my neck. I was shocked for a moment, before an indescribable feeling of warmth permeated my being. I awkwardly closed my arms about her, wondering at her unrestrained affection. Never before had anyone treated me like this—I had always had to milk out even the tiniest bit of caring and even then I suspected its existence. There had only been once, once when it had been anything like this—another child long ago—but that child could not see. This one acted for all the world like she could not, and I determinedly ignored the voice that said she had not, I would not spoil this.

I felt as if I never wanted this moment to end, and I could feel my eyes start to water.

But all too soon Belle pulled away, grabbing my hand, and saying "Come on, I want to show you my room," then her little brow puckered, "although it is messy because of moving, but that's okay."

Bemused, I allowed her to pull me out of the room, and up the steps.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

The car rattled dreadfully, the sound of the rotating wheels pounding into my head. I rubbed my temples futilely; traveling was so stressful! However, although traveling on a train was extremely unpleasant, the reduction in travel time more than made up for it—we had cut hours off our trip by taking the train. Thankfully, we should be arriving in the station at Dover any time now. Once there, we would be staying at an inn overnight since the ship embarked very early tomorrow morning. Smiling to myself, I let the anticipation of being by the sea drown out my irritation with the train.

Looking across from me, I found even more reason to smile; there sat Erik and Belle, Belle was slumped down in the corner, her eyelids drooping as she listened to Erik. Ever since we had departed from Victoria Station, he had been regaling her with fantastic stories of foreign courts, magic tricks, and gypsy revels. She was undeniably enthralled, determinedly keeping her eyes open, although the spell of his voice was lulling her to sleep. Several times already her eyes had drifted shut, and Erik had slowly trailed into silence, but immediately Belle's eyes had jerked open, and she had demanded he continue. I would have told her to let him alone, but I could see he was enjoying himself, and I had to admit, I was enjoying myself as well.

Erik was a masterful storyteller, his active imagination and magical voice a fatal combination; I was unsure how much of his stories were true, but believed there was a kernel of truth in each, and treasured learning more of my angel. Only in the last few moments had I allowed my mind to wander, Dover's close proximity causing me to think over the details of our trip yet once more.

I glanced to my left, Antoinette sat there, contentedly reading a book of collected works by Jonathon Swift—an author whose satirical tone seemed to suit her very well. I suspected, however, that she had been neglecting Swift, also drawn in by Erik's tales.

I heard a soft knock on the door to the compartment, before it opened, and the conductor stuck his head in, "Pulling into Dover now, ma'am."

"Thank you," I replied graciously, and he swiftly withdrew.

Our little group stirred, and rustled around, collecting belongings as we prepared to disembark. The train chugged on, soon pulling into a busy terminal. As we alighted, I furtively glanced at Erik and by the compression of his lips I could tell how much he disliked emerging into the crowd.

We successfully navigated the hassle of locating our trunks, and getting them loaded onto our transportation. Because of all the luggage, we hired two hackney carriages to take us to our destination, Antoinette and Belle riding in one, while Erik and I occupied the other.

"How are you feeling?" I inquired, once we were seated inside.

Erik gave a little grimace, "As well as can be expected, and you my dear?"

"The same," I replied, before saying with a smile, "Already you spoil Belle, you must learn not to let her impose on you."

"Ahh," Erik said softly, "But I like being imposed upon."

I shook my head, a smile still upon my lips. "Well, she was not your only audience this afternoon," I told him, "I, and I suspect Antoinette, enjoyed your stories as well."

"What, all that nonsense?" he said dismissively, but there was a warm look in his eyes.

I gave a little laugh, "Well my instinct tells me that not all of your stories are nonsense, is it wrong?"

"No, not entirely, but what really happened . . . well, is not half so enjoyable," he replied seriously.

"That I also suspected," I said, before saying shyly, "But nevertheless, I would like to hear more one day."

His eyes darkened, "I am flattered, but I don't know it that is a good idea. And," he said meaningfully, "I think you have some far more pertinent information for me."

I relapsed into silence, eyeing him unhappily, but I knew that I had to tell him some time. Thankfully the carriage came to a stop, and I gave a sigh of relief.

As I got out of the carriage, the smell of the sea wafted into my nostrils, and I breathed in deeply, glorying in the scent. How I loved the ocean! I wanted to see it, to leave all this behind me, and immerse myself in the glory of the sea, its vast grandeur greater than all my problems, all my worries. With a sigh I opened my eyes, only just realizing I had closed them, I could not go right now, but maybe later . . . Determinedly I turned my mind back to the prosaic reality of The White Horse.

The White Horse, true to its name, was a little white inn, the yard neat and clean, and the atmosphere welcoming. We entered the building, and were immediately greeted by a plump landlord, who asked how he could help us with an avaricious gleam in his eye. I informed him that we were the expected party; James had written to secure three bedrooms and private parlor, but considering the short notice I half expected to be turned away. However, he immediately bade us welcome, and ushering us upstairs, showed us our rooms. Erik and Antoinette had their own, while Belle and I were to share. The rooms were nothing special, but looked clean and cheery, and I was very satisfied. However, noticing the size of building, I imagined we must be taking up the whole house.

We directed all of our belongings to their appropriate places, and settled on a time for dinner, which would be served in the private parlor in two hours. We were quite hungry, however, so the landlord provided us with some tea and cakes to tide us over until our meal.

With the tea consumed, we still had more than an hour before dinner, and my mind quickly returned to the Ocean.

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**Erik**

"We should go down the sea!" Christine suggested, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. I smiled inwardly, I had seen the joy on her face the moment she smelled the scent of the ocean, and I dearly loved the excitement she clearly felt at the idea of seeing that natural beauty.

"I too would enjoy a stroll down to the sea," I told her approvingly. Unbidden my mind recalled another 'casual' nighttime stroll, that night by the Bois . . . but this was different. This was not in the midst of a twisted charade, although it did contain some farcical characteristics, no I did not have to pretend, this, this was real.

Belle was ecstatic at the notion, giving an excited little wriggle, and declaring "I have never seen the sea before, how exciting!"

Madame Giry sensibly summoned a servant and inquired the best way to go.

"Just turn right, directly you leave the inn, ma'am, then go straight, you'll pass two streets before you come to Marine Parade, and just across is the promenade. If I may suggest it, the Promenade Pier is very pleasant. But you'll have to hurry if you're to get there before the sun sets," the rosy cheeked maid told us, her eyes curiously flitting to my face every so often.

Madame Giry thanked her, and we all hastened to don our outer wear, setting out from inn. As we walked down the street, Madame Giry took Belle's hand, and I offered Christine my arm. Never before in my life had I had felt so . . . normal. I gloried in the feeling, this feeling of belonging. To an outside observer we might look like any other family party, (except for my mask), and I felt a thrill at the thought.

The walk down the cobbled streets, and soon the Ocean came into view from behind a building, glittering under the setting sun. I heard Christine's indrawn breath at the sight, and I looked down at her, entranced by her awestruck face.

Belle squealed with excitement, and began pulling Madame Giry by her hand, in her haste to explore this new wonder.

As we followed Belle, Christine murmured, "How I wish she could have grown up by the sea. It has given me such happy memories."

"She is not grown yet," I reminded her, comforted by the thought myself, "Exactly how old is she?" I asked tentatively.

Christine grew a little stiffer, but she answered, "She is eight years old, and turns nine in September."

Swift calculation caused me to draw in a breath; it must have been scarcely a few weeks later! The bastard! Christine must have sensed my mood, because she said with a beguiling smile, "Come let us enjoy the present."

Belle and Madame Giry had already crossed the street, and Belle looked to be arguing with her, probably wanting to make a closer inspection of the sea shore.

With an answering smile, I crossed the street with Christine, pushing the past to the back of my mind. There would be plenty of time for that when we reached Paris.

"Belle," Christine said, once we reached the other pair, "my dear, I'm sorry but you can't go nearer, you will ruin your dress. But look, we can go out onto the pier and we will be right over the sea."

Belle acquiesced immediately, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the pier, and we proceeded to walk out onto it. Belle ran on ahead, with Madame Giry closely following behind her, while Christine and I continued to walk together. She drifted along next to me, her dreamy gaze absorbed with the sight before her.

Contentedly we walked down to the pier, passing a few lone fisherman, and the occasional couple. Soon we came to the end, where Belle was already sitting, her stocking-clad feet dangling down.

Christine disengaged from my arm in order to lean against the railing, her voice thoughtful, she softly said, "The beauty of the Ocean is so hard to describe, and I feel as if its glory invades my very soul. When I look on it I know that I am nothing compared to its beauty and majesty, and my only desire is to become one with it—to belong to its wonder, even if I am just one humble drop of liquid in its vast domain."

Her words were poetic and filled with passion, and I found an answering strain of my soul.

"Its like visual music," I said softly, "I have always thought the sea beautiful, Christine, but it is glorious beyond belief when seen through your eyes."

"I am glad . . . glad I can make you feel its wonder," and she was silent for a few more moments before she said, "It is like visual music, but Erik it is so much more than sight, it is a feast for your senses. The ocean breeze caresses your face, its smells are like a drugging perfume, and the sound of its movement changes at every moment. It can be a soothing lullaby, harmonically shushing you to sleep, but it can also be a raging cacophony of sounds—awesome in its power and might. Oh it is ever-changing, unpredictable."

Then she turned her eyes to me, and said, placing her hand on mine, "Kind of like you."

My breath caught in my throat, but I replied with a laugh, "Are you saying I'm moody?"

"You are indeed," she said in a teasing tone, before becoming serious once more, "But I do believe that I were to compare the Ocean to a person—I have found a worthy candidate in you."

Was she serious? She had just spoken of the sea of beautiful, majestic, glorious; she had spoken of it with passion and with love. How could she even speak of me in the same breath? I opened my mouth to speak, but found a finger pressed up against my lips.

"Don't," Christine said softly, "Just accept it, believe I mean it."

I relapsed into silence, my heart full, and as we watched the sun set over the ocean, I twined my fingers with Christine's and she did not pull away.

As it grew dark, I felt a little tug on my other hand. Belle looked up at me, "Aunt says its time to go in." she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "But we don't have to if you don't want to."

Clearly she hoped to find an ally in me, but dutifully I said, "If your aunt says its time to go, then I suppose we must leave. You will be hungry soon, and regret you are not sitting down to dinner."

She gave a little sigh, "Alright."

Madame Giry walked over to us, and together we all returned to the inn.

We partook of dinner in our small Parlor, and afterwards we all collapsed into chairs, sated and tired. I wondered then if I should retire to my room, and leave this family to themselves, I almost felt like a trespasser who had looked too long.

Belle was not as tired as the adults, and soon began to ask me to tell her another story, however before I could speak Christine interjected, "I have a better idea, I noticed your violin case Erik, how about you play us some tunes."

At this moment, I believe there is not much I would have denied her, so I returned to my room, and fetched the violin. I realized this would be the first time Belle heard me play, and the first time I saw her react to music. Naturally I was very curious to see what she would think.

I started off with a simple tune, and watched Belle's face; to my satisfaction she looked fascinated. I wanted 'my' child to harbor the same love of music I felt.

When I was finished Belle begged me to play another, and I launched out into a more complicated song, soon losing myself in the music. I had played several more songs before Madame Giry finally put an end to night, declaring it was Belle's bedtime.

After much discussion, during which time Belle tried to wheedle her way into staying, Christine and Belle left the room. Eyeing Madame Giry a little nervously, I departed as well, on the pretext of returning the violin.

I had been in my room a few minutes when I heard a soft knock upon the door; surprised, I opened it up to see Christine there. Repressing the demons that were making illicit suggestions, I asked politely what she wanted.

"Belle wants you to come say goodnight to her," she replied.

I felt a sudden pleasure at the thought, this mundane duty a precious privilege, and followed Christine to their room.

Belle lay in the bed, all tucked in, the white lace of her nightgown encircling her throat, and her brown curls barely restrained in a braid.

I leaned down to her, and she said, "I am so glad you are with us, now I have a proper family."

I felt my heart rise, then sink, as happy as her words made me, I wondered at how this situation would play out later. However I replied softly, "And I am very glad to be with you."

"You must kiss me, you know," she said, as if instructing a wayward pupil.

"Of course," I replied, my heart tightening unbearably. Such a little thing really, a kiss . . . most people don't give it a moment's consideration. They kiss on meeting, they kiss on parting, that simple touching of flesh is taken entirely for granted as a basic human right. But I had never had the luxury of taking a kiss for granted, and wondering that now this precious being expected it of me, I leaned down and reverently pressed my lips to her forehead.

She did not kiss me back, she hardly could have, but briefly raised her hand to face, and I wondered if Christine had warned her about the mask. Fear filled my heart at her lingering touch, but she twined her little arms around my neck, pulling me to hear, and whispered, "Good night . . . Father."

And that one word was like a caress that soothed the deepest torments of my soul.

My throat felt tight, and with great effort I replied, "Good night Belle."

Pulling away from her, I turned to see Christine, at the back of room, watching the little scene with a tender look in her eyes. She did not speak to me, but moved forward to Belle, no doubt to finish her own goodnight, and I left, taking refuge in my room.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

I finished saying goodnight to Belle, before returning thoughtfully to the parlor, where Antoinette still sat reading.

"Belle wanted Erik to say goodnight to her," I said slowly, "He came, and well . . . it was really sweet."

"I never doubted that Erik had great capacity for love should he only be allowed to exercise it," Antoinette replied, putting down her book, "Christine my dear, you are very brave, continue to be so."

I gave a deprecating laugh, "Not so very brave."

She eyed me thoughtfully, and said, "If you wish to have some time alone with him, I will retire to your bedroom and watch over Belle."

I blushed, amazed once again at how perceptive she was, "Well, I would appreciate it, but I'll probably only take a second, I mean we have an early day tomorrow."

"Whatever you say my dear," Antoinette replied, calmly picking up her book and preparing to leave.

I took a deep breath, I wanted to make a rather odd request of Erik. He would probably think it was stupid, too much trouble, but I was determined to try.

I walked to his door, and knocked. When he opened the door he looked just as surprised as before.

"Is something wrong Christine?" he asked, clearly puzzled at my presence.

"No, nothing at all," I replied, hesitating.

He patiently waited for me to speak, and finally I shyly made my request, "I have two favorite sounds in the world, one, as you have no doubt realized, is the Ocean, and the other . . . well the other is you."

He looked about to speak, and his eyes were dark with emotion, but I rushed on, "So I was wondering, it's stupid really, and I know we both need sleep, but well I wanted to hear the two of you together."

He gazed, down at me, a tender light in his eyes, "I am honored, and I don't think it's stupid at all. You might need sleep my dear, but I, well I would be up for hours no matter what."

"Thank you," I said shyly, "While we were on the pier I imagined hearing you play there."

"Well," he said, "there we shall go."

Breathlessly, I returned to the parlor to fetch my shawl and hat, and returned to Erik's room. Together we departed, the streets were not crowded, but they were hardly deserted, and as we walked we did not speak—comfortable in each other's presence. As the Ocean came into sight, I was once again caught up in the glory of the sea, wondering at its nighttime personality. The wind had picked up and the waves crashed onto the shore, glittering in the pale moonlight. We walked down the pier, and I felt as if I was in a fairytale—if I was, make-believe had never been so pleasant.

The pier was deserted, and I was only too happy, I did not wish to share my music with anyone this night. When we reached the end I withdrew my arm, preparing to hear Erik play. He quietly extracted the violin from its case, and brought it up to his chin, sending me one smoldering gaze before raising the bow.

The first haunting strains of the violin softly caressed me, filling me with that strange delight only Erik's music could bring me. It combined with the shushing, rolling waves, creating a composition more wonderful than even I could have imagined. I slowly sank to my knees, closing my eyes, utterly overcome with the sensations. And Erik played on, his music one with the sea, the melodies uniting into one glorious extravaganza of sound.

(a/n) Well I hope you enjoyed this extravaganza of fluff! I wanted to get the steamer trip in, but it didn't work out. Oh well! Review Please!(a/n)


	13. My Following Gaze

(a/n) I love my reviewers! All of you! MickeeD, erik'sangel527, ae28, angelofnight, Thy-Beckoning-Angel, forever in a bottle, Emily singing reflection, Crying Wasteland, Ziroana, Monroe-mary, Padme Nijiri, Sue Raven, Misty Breyer, unseenhope18.

Unseenhope18: Ahh . . . I love my Kay quotes too! And I love you for saying my eloquence parallels that of Kay! School isn't treating me too badly this semester (unlike last), but it seems the less work I have the lazier I become (paradoxically).

Misty Breyer: Thank goodness my fluff isn't as goopy, I think I would die of sugar poisoning if it was.

Sue Raven: Thankyou, I was thinking on the ocean, when I thought, kind of like Erik, and oh look, kind of like Erik again. A successful trip back to France . . . I might grant you that muhahaha

Monroe-mary: I know I'm really in love with Belle as a character! I love writing her. So I'm glad you all enjoy her too. And yes, I adore the ocean, I grew up near it, but sadly have been unable to visit for a long time. And I don't mind your speculation, I love it! It shows I've got you thinking!

Ziroana: Yes, Erik and Christine will be singing together sometime. I just loved the idea of the violin and ocean together.

Crying Wasteland: yes fluff only lasts so long, its actually much harder to write. I'm glad you liked the Erik Counterpoint.

Thy-Beckoning-Angel: LoL, I'm flattered, but don't worry, this is definitely not the end. Just the calm before the storm. So keep reading, and enjoy!

Angelofnight: Thank you so much! I actually read that quote before I read the book, its part of the reason I read it. I just knew that the book had to be great after reading it.

Ae28: Complications must happen! Without them there would be no story!

Erik'sangel527: Thanks, I love writing Erik with Belle, ever since I read Kay I see him as having this really paternal nurturing side that I just love letting him use.

MickeeD: "inseparable similarities" nice phrase! Thanks for the compliments!

Now, onto the chapter!

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**Erik**

The foghorn blared gratingly as the ship readied to embark. Startled, Belle jumped up about one foot, covering her ears, a pained expression on her face. I barely restrained a chuckle, the little girl never failed to amuse me. As I watched she turned to Christine, and although I was too far away to hear her, I could tell by the indignant expression her face that she was probably complaining about the loud noise. As I watched her mobile features, I reflected on how dear the child had become to me. The feeling was both alarming and exciting, as much as I wished to accept this new development with no reservations, I could not. I was too used to losing the people I loved. In addition, all too soon we would have to discuss the details of this situation, and then, I feared, everything would go awry.

I saw Belle skipping towards me, and I pushed those thoughts to the back my mind, smiling in greeting.

"Are you enjoying this Belle?" I asked.

"Well, it is ever so exciting to be on a ship, and floating on the sea, but the . . . uh," she wrinkled her brow in concentration, searching for the word.

"Foghorn?" I supplied.

"Uhuh, the foghorn was too loud. They should warn people about things like that! Why, an old person might die of fright!"

I schooled my feature into a grave expression, asking her, "Were you afraid that I should die of fright Belle?"

"You're not _that_ old!" she exclaimed, "I'm talking about _real_ old people, you know, with white hair and canes," she informed me, speaking as if she doubted my intelligence.

"I am relieved. I hope to boast a more distinguished death than foghorn shock."

She laughed at this, her mirth gurgling up out of her lips in the most delightful way, "That would be silly wouldn't it? I know how _I'm_ going to die."

"How is that Belle?"

"Well," she said, eyes sparkling, "I going to be a nurse like Florence Nightingale, and be very brave and save ever so many lives, and be very famous, but then become deathly ill with the fever. The whole country will be sad, and they will all mourn me when I die."

"That sounds like a very interesting ambition. Do you spend much time thinking of how you could die?"

"Well . . . the best stories are tragedies, every body knows it!"

"Oh, everybody? Who told you that?"

"Why, the all the girls at school, the older grades just put on _Mary, Queen of Scots_, which is ever so tragic."

"That explains it, I suppose, but underestimate happy endings Belle, sometimes those are much harder to come by."

"Oh!" Belle exclaimed, as the ship slowly began to move, "we're starting! We're starting!"

I smiled indulgently as she ran to her mother, deciding it was time for me to retire to my cabin. I was a man accustomed to his solitude, and as much as I enjoyed Belle . . . and Christine, I could still some time alone every now and then. I had been reading for about an hour when there was a soft knock on my door, I opened the door, and Christine greeted me with a friendly smile—a smile that never failed to make my heart beat a little faster.

"Are you busy?"

"Not at all, just reading, how is Belle?"

"The poor thing is tired out from all the excitement. She and Antoinette are both resting. I was wondering if you would walk above deck with me?"

I felt of rush of pleasure at her request. Once again Christine was seeking out my companionship, and that knowledge was immensely satisfying.

"I would be happy to walk with you."

I offered her my arm, and we walked up into the sunshine together. The sky was a deep blue, dotted occasionally by cheery white clouds, and sea gulls circled overhead. The steam from the boiler floated lazily up out of the smoke stack, its trailing fingers teasing the sky. A few sailors passed us as we made our way to the railing, but they paid us no attention, and I felt pleasantly calm.

After a few moments of companionable silence, Christine spoke, "I was just wondering if you definitely wished to stay the night in Calais, we could go ahead and board the train to Paris if you wished."

"No, I think that it would be less stressful for as all if we just spent the night in Calais. We would reach Paris very late indeed, and Belle would be very tired."

"Yes, you are right, it would be better for Belle," Christine replied, she paused a moment and then continued, her voice sounding hesitant, "When we reach Paris, I suppose we should just stay at hotel until other arrangements can be made."

"No, no that won't be necessary. I actually own a small townhouse in Paris that I bought years ago, and since I thought it would be convenient if I decided to return, and I didn't want to go through the hassle of selling it, I kept it on. The house will, of course, be under holland covers, and you will have to engage servants, but I think you will find it easier than staying at a hotel."

I saw her glance up at me, a puzzled frown on her face; I adored how she cocked her head just so whenever something bothered or confused her.

"You speak as though you will not be staying there as well?"

"No, my dear, I thought it would hardly be proper for me to live with you . . . after all you are a single woman." I watched her carefully; I would not impose my unwanted company on her. Didn't she realize I was giving her a way to avoid having to suffer my constant presence?

Her brow cleared at my words, "Oh, if that is all you are worried about, I assure you, there is no problem. Antoinette's presence makes our situation perfectly respectable. Besides, we will hardly be there long, and I don't particularly care what the neighbors think. Come, I'm not going to keep you from your own house!" she said, a twinkle in her eye inviting me to smile in return.

I did so, but my mind was preoccupied with other thoughts as well. Several times she had mentioned "other arrangements" and I knew that she did not particularly want to live in Paris, but we had hardly discussed the situation in detail . . . or how it involved me. In addition, there was still so much left unsaid between us.

My perturbation must have been obvious, because she asked me, "What is wrong Erik?"

"Nothing really, just thinking of all we must do. Tell me, my dear, where were you wishing to live?"

Christine's eyes grew dreamy, "What I would really like is to live on the coast, in some little village. Somewhere away from the bustle of the metropolis, but near to a large town. But Erik, where would you like to live?"

What precisely did she mean by that? This vagueness was killing me! Did she want me living near her? With her? Very close? At a comfortable distance?

"That depends," I said slowly, watching her carefully, "Do you wish me to live near you?"

"Well . . .of course," she responded, her face suddenly sharpening. Then before I could reply she said abruptly, "We can discuss this later, I rather think I should go and check on Belle now."

Without waiting for me, she turned and left, walking briskly away. I stared at her, feeling even more confused. Was she upset? Perhaps she did not want to live near me? I gave a frustrated groan before turning to leave myself.

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**Christine**

I flounced down the stairs and into my cabin. Antoinette, Belle, and I were sharing the space for the brief voyage, and Antoinette was propped up on a bunk reading. She looked up at my entrance, and sent a warning glance towards the top bunk where Belle's sleeping form lay, before asking quietly, "Is something wrong?"

"No, no nothing at all," I replied unconvincingly, sitting down upon the bottom bunk, and glaring ferociously at an innocent spot on the wall. Antoinette merely began reading again, and I was left to brood. Erik and I had been having our little conversation, and it had been going quite well. Then I had asked him where he wanted to live, merely wanting his input on _our_ living arrangements. But he had asked in return if I wanted him to live close by, his uncertainty hardly flattering. Of course I wanted him to live close by! At least!

_I would really prefer if he lived with us_. I almost groaned aloud. What exactly did I want? _You want him to love you, marry you, and live happily ever after_. Ha, I had all but actually asked the man to marry me. I had brazenly encouraged him to consider himself the father of my child and hinted very strongly that I would like to live with him. So either he was being extremely obtuse, a term I would hardly use to describe Erik, or he was trying to keep me at a distance. I sighed. He wasn't acting like he wanted me at a distance, but he wasn't initiating anything either.

I thought back to last night. We had been in accord all day long, and I could distinctly remember his fingers twined with mine as we had watched the sun set. Then later . . . when we had been alone . . . as he had played his violin, and as we had walked back to the inn, he had been so tender that I could easily believe he loved me—that Antoinette was right. But he wasn't _doing_ anything. Now I was starting to think he was only with us because of my daughter, I remembered how angry he had been when he had seen me with Reggie. Much of that anger had been because of my daughter, because he thought I was not a fit mother. I felt a little twang of jealously, and immediately felt ashamed, how could I be jealous of Belle?

I crushed the feeling quickly, but my mind was immediately filled with just as unpleasant thoughts. The fact that I had yet to explain Belle's existence weighted on me constantly. Yet I did not want to do it . . . I wanted to wait just a little longer. After all, what if I told him I had chosen him, and then told him how Belle was conceived. He might up and marry me out of pity! That I did not want!

I suddenly felt very tired, I had not gotten nearly enough sleep last night, and the small cabin bunk actually looked quite inviting. Deciding I would just lay down for a few minutes, I pulled off my shoes, and stretched out on the bed.

I was awakened later to the sound of Antoinette's voice informing me we had reached Calais. Drowsily, I sat up, and saw Belle was already wide awake and rearing to go.

"Finally you are awake, Mother! I have been waiting forever! We are almost in France now!"

"Yes," I replied sleepily, "And just think, you will only hear French from now on. In fact let us switch to French right now."

"Yes, Mother," she dutifully replied in French, "It will be strange to only speak French."

"You will get used to it, and we can still speak some English at home, just as we spoke French while we were in England."

Belle agreed doubtfully, and sat waiting impatiently while I put on my shoes, and fixed my hair.

Soon we all emerged, and met up with Erik in the hall. I glanced at him from under my lashes, not at all happy with what I observed—he looked far more withdrawn than he had in a while. I gave an exasperated sigh. Why were things so confusing?

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**Max**

The enquiries over my brother's death had met with one dead end after another. The fools in the police force had not even taken my description of the murderer seriously. They had accepted the cloak, but their skeptical looks clearly said they had no intention of featuring the white glinting face in their investigation. A trick of the light, one had said.

Well, they had little enough to go one, especially without my description, and although they assured me they had some promising leads, I knew better. They would get no where if they could not find the man I had seen.

I had felt useless waiting around, and it had taken no time at all to see this case would not be solved. Resolved to take my mind off the entire situation, I had decided to visit Paris, I had friends there, and it would be a welcome change of scene. And, as I stood in the early morning air of Calais, I felt that I had made the right decision.

I had arrived on a packet yesterday, and spent the night at one of the many inns in Calais. I was just waiting for my luggage to be loaded into the boot of my hired carriage, before I was on my way. I was taking the 9.15 train to Paris.

As soon as the luggage was loaded, I climbed into the carriage, and settled in as it made its leisurely way through the streets. I was a little impatient with the slow pace, but I held my peace. This changed when the carriage rolled to a complete stop. Cursing, I lifted the flap on the window to look outside. The carriage was being waylaid by an inconveniently placed wagon, whose driver was backing up slowly. Irritated, I looked around, my glance passing jerkily over my surroundings. I did a double take, directly in front of me, a small group was loading into a couple of vehicles.

What caught my attention were two people I recognized, Elise Carpentier, and the man with the glinting white face. This man wore a white mask covering almost one entire half of his face. Although I could not know for certain he was the man, I did not see how this could be a coincidence. My immediate impulse was to jump out and confront the both of them; however, I held back, uncertainty and confusion gnawing at me. True I was unsure this was my man, but I was far more discomposed by Elise's presence. How could she be involved?

Caution won the encounter, and I decided instead, to follow them as best I could. Pulling back the little sliding glass window between the driver and I, I informed him that if we were to follow those two carriages, discreetly slipping the man some more coin.

Thankfully the party set off just as the cart finally moved out of the way, and we followed in due course.

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**Christine**

I stepped out of the train onto the bustling platform of Gare Saint-Lazare, Paris's most impressive train station. Erik had informed me on the ride that just last year the station had been enlarged and embellished by the architect Juste Lisch. He had proceeded to instruct me on the façade of the structure, trying to explain the characteristics of the XVIIth century Beaux-Arts style. But I had been far more fascinated by Erik's obvious passion for the subject, than the style of façade. He never looked more impressive than when he was caught up in something, his voice rich, his eyes glittering, and his graceful hands dancing in the air.

I was jolted out of my thoughts by Antoinette's insistent hand on my shoulder, guiding me through the crowd.

"Do pay attention Christine," she scolded me, and I guiltily focused my thoughts. We still needed to collect our trunks, and travel to Erik's house. After that, the house would no doubt need some cleaning and some supplies. Luckily we still had a few hours of daylight left.

We survived the trial of collecting our luggage, and finding transport, and finally we were on our way. As we rode through Paris I couldn't help but look back and remember. I grew teary eyed as I recalled the disastrous events of the past, but the memories were not entirely unhappy. The time I spent with Erik had been priceless. I don't think anything could compare to the ecstasy my innocent heart first found in his song, and I grew hot as I interpreted certain events with my no longer innocent mind. Hurriedly I banished those thoughts and began to converse with Belle.

When we arrived, I alighted from the carriage, helping Belle down after me. I surveyed the area; the neighborhood was nondescript, obviously middle-class, perhaps even lower middle-class. The house itself looked like all of the other houses, its thin form sandwiched in between two other almost identical structures. It was perfect.

That afternoon, Erik took Belle out shopping for supplies while Antoinette and I aired sheets, removed the holland covers from just a few of the rooms, and tried to defeat at least some of the dust. By the end of the day, we were tolerably comfortable, but very tired. However, I had been glad of the exertion, cleaning had helped me work out some of my irritated energy, and kept my mind off certain subjects.

I slept soundly that night, and awoke early the next morning prepared to truly do battle with the house. Antoinette and I progressed nicely during the morning, despite Belle. She tried to be a good little helper, and we humored her, but she was really more of a hindrance than a help. Erik, I think, was more than a little discomforted by our efforts, and I smiled to myself as I contemplated the fact he had to choose between the lesser of the two evils—a house invested with cleaning women or the outside world.

A little before lunch he finally left, and came back later with some fresh bread for our meal, as well as a newspaper. Upon his return, we all sat down at the kitchen table for a light luncheon of cold meat, bread, cheese, and fruit; despite its simple nature, the repast was remarkably satisfying and I rose from the meal with renewed energy.

I was just starting on the parlor, when I heard the door slam loudly. Curious, I emerged and walked to the front door, opened it, and looked out. I saw Erik's back already someway down the street, and I wondered if he was upset. I could think of no reason he might be, however, I returned to the kitchen where we had left him reading the paper earlier.

When I entered the room I saw the paper on the kitchen table, one page crumpled in the middle. Curious, I walked forward, and picked up the crushed paper, straightening it out. I scanned the contents and was puzzled; this was nothing but the society announcements. I searched the page a little longer, and was about to give up when suddenly two words jumped off the paper at me. Vicomte deChagny.

Staring up at herwas the announcement of Raoul's engagement.

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(a/n) Okay, question, I was really torn about the mask and I can still change it. I've been waffling for a while, whole or half. Feel free to give me your opinion. If my writing previously indicated one or the other, tell me. Alright, you know the drill! Review. (a/n)


	14. Revelations

(a/n) Hey guys, I know it's been a while, but here is at least one reason for my delay. My art muse attacked my writing muse, and held it hostage until I drew something.If you are interested it is up onDeviantart under the name DreamsofBeautyI love all my reviewers oodles, but I am too tired to respond to you all now. I could have waited, but I figured you would rather have the chapter. I adore you guys!

So the half mask won hands down. I am rather glad, because I really had given him too many expressions to cover him up now.

Enjoy(a/n)

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Christine**

The paper seemed to grow blurry before my vision, and for one minute I felt at a total loss. Then, throwing the paper down, I rushed out of the house in pursuit of Erik. But as soon as I turned the way I had seen him go, I realized I didn't know where he was headed. Frantically, my mind flew from one possibility to another, until finally I settled on the only place I could think of: the de Chagny town house. I had been there just once, and I believed I could find my way there again; I hadn't thought Erik knew where it was, but this was my best option.

I briskly walked through the streets, blindly brushing past people, my thoughts in a whirl. What could Erik be thinking? Was he going to find Raoul? Suddenly I felt extremely guilty, once again Raoul would be embroiled in my affairs. I knew I should have told Erik about Belle already. I knew it, and yet I hadn't wanted to destroy the tenuous balance of our relationship. Well, now I had made things even worse. I was a grown woman; I should never have indulged in such games of make-believe!

Suddenly, I realized I had turned down a wrong street in my hurry, and muttering unladylike words under my breath, I turned back. I had to concentrate! Finally I reached the house, but as I stared up at its intimidating façade I was unsure of how to proceed. The house was lighted, but I could see no signs of the kind of altercation Erik excelled at.

As I stood there in my indecision, I heard raised voices emanating from the house—male voices. Summoning my courage, I mounted the stairs and knocked loudly, and when after few minutes, maybe just seconds, there was no answer, I recklessly opened the door, and almost immediately I came across a limp form in the hall way, probably the butler. I dropped to my knees before him, hastily grabbing his wrist, and felt for his pulse. Feeling a steady throb, I breathed a sigh of relief; he wasn't dead, just unconscious.

Hearing raised voices again; I raised my head, and noticed a young maid standing back up against the wall. She appeared petrified.

"Where are they?" I asked abruptly.

She stood there mutely, and with an impatient sigh, I walked over to the nearest door and put my hand on the knob.

"You can't go in there!" she burst out.

"Don't worry I know this man," I told her, "Oh, and it would be better for you if you left the hall."

With that, I flung the door open, and drew in a shocked breath. Raoul and Erik I had expected, but what in the world was Max doing here?

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Erik**

I leisurely leafed through the paper, trying to get a hold of Paris' current political situation. The damned city was just so volatile. Having read through all the articles of substance, I reflected that I had no desire to emerge into a flurry of cleaning females, so I decided to look over the society announcements. My eyes scanned the words carelessly, and I was about to close the paper when I saw de Chagny's name. Immediately my customary feeling of anger and resentment reared its head, and only increased as I read the words. The boy, who had discarded Christine, was now getting himself a fine aristocratic mare to breed with.

Fury clouded my mind as I dwelled on the sins of that scurrilous blackguard. I had given Christine over into his care, believing him to be an honorable young man that truly loved her. And this, this had been the result! My misjudgment and his perfidy were responsible fore everything she had had to endure! I reflexively clenched my fists, crushing the paper within my grasp. Shoving the chair back, I rose and strode out of the house. His crimes would not go unnoticed!

I knew the way to his house, had been there before. I still bore the scar from my last visit, when that boy had tried to shoot me in the back. I gritted my teeth, I should have known then he had no honor!

I continued to reflect on the evils the Vicomte had brought down upon Christine, replaying everything I knew over and over again in my mind. By the time I reached his street, I was a seething mass of hatred. I did not even have to search him out; he walked right out his house, directly into my waiting hands. Damn him! He was just as sickeningly handsome as ever. I viewed the fear and surprise on his face with relish, taking it for guilt, and before he could retreat I was upon him, my hands about his throat. But I did not kill him, was not even sure what I planned to do, instead I dragged him back into his own house.

I had just pulled him through the door, when I came smack up against a man I took to the butler. I had no patience for this! Removing one hand from Raoul, I delivered the hardest punch I could under the circumstance, but it worked only too well, and I heard the man crash back against the hall table. I dragged the boy into the nearest room and, placing myself between him and the door, thrust him into the middle of the room.

"I wonder," I said silkily, "If you can give me a reason I should allow you to continue your pitiful existence?"

"What! What have I done?" he cried, bewilderment in his voice.

"It may seem like nothing to you," I growled, "But, trust me, I think it very serious."

"What? What!" he demanded, a little wildly.

"Don't play innocent with me boy, did you think you just throw her aside like used goods?"

"Who are you talking about?" he asked, his voice frustrated.

"Christine," I spat out.

"What the deuce? Christine returned to you! She left me the very next day."

For a minute I was stunned. Could it possibly be true? But no, I could no more believe that than believe I resembled Adonis himself. This was a foolish ploy to try and save his life.

"You lie," I stated implacably, my voice low, "Don't think you can escape your actions."

"By God, release this man!" declared a new voice behind me. I whirled to see a gentleman of dissipated looks, a weary determined expression upon his face.

I stepped back, still careful to watch Raoul out of one corner of my eye. The interloper entered, closed the door behind him, and stepped to the side—the better to see the both of us I suppose.

"Why, my dear sir, are you interfering in what is none of your concern? I suggest you leave now." I told him, my voice dangerously soft.

"I saw a man nearly strangled on the street. As a gentleman I could not simply pass by," he said, in a tight voice.

"Monsieur, I repeat, this is none of your concern. It will better for you if you leave now."

"Or what? Shall you kill me?" he demanded.

Before I could answer the door opened and there stood Christine, still dressed in cleaning clothes, her hair tied up in a handkerchief. She accepted the presence of Raoul and I fairly calmly, but at the sight of the interloper her eyes filled with shock.

"Welcome my dear," I said, "Perhaps you can clear up some of this mess, and persuade this fine gentleman to leave."

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Max**

I had been lurking around the house all morning now, and had already seen the man embark on one harmless expedition. But this was different, I was stunned by the expression of fury contorting the half of his face I could see. I felt a shiver run down my spine, but I immediately emerged from the shadows of the tree I had been lounging behind, determined to follow him. His pace was rapid, and I was hard pressed to keep him in my sight. Once I thought I lost him, but I quickened my steps and he came back into view. As we traversed the streets, I soon noticed that we had entered the most affluent part of town. I frowned. Where exactly was he going?

I was answered sooner than I expected, I had vaguely noticed a young man exit a house, but my attention was caught by the look of surprise and fear that crossed his features. Everyone was a little afraid of the masked man, but this young man's reaction was extreme. Almost immediately my man strode up to the other, grabbing him by the throat. I started forward. I could not let this happen to some other innocent young man! The mask practically dragged his victim back into the house that he had come from. Quickly, I determined that I too would enter the house and save this young man if I could. Surely this incident proved to me that this was just the man I had been looking for!

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Christine**

"Max! Why are you here!" I exclaimed.

To my surprise he answered me in a cold, stiff voice, "I might ask the same of you Madame." I saw then that he looked and acted utterly unlike the charming Max of old, and I wondered only briefly what had changed him, before his brother's death sprang to mind. I felt a pang of remorse for Max, but I was not sorry Reggie was dead.

I realized then just how dangerous this situation was, and I was almost sick at the thought. Did he know that Erik was his brother's killer? I dared not think it!

Drawing on my inner resources I managed to reply in a calm voice, "I happen to know both these gentlemen very well. Can you say the same?"

At the same time Raoul exclaimed, "Madame?" the question clear in his voice.

Erik quickly asserted, "Madame Elise Carpentier, Vicomte; yes, she has been married since you last saw her."

I saw Raoul's look of surprise, but knew he would not give me away, and then to my surprise he promptly collapsed upon a sofa, with the air of one who has given up. It was an action totally unlike the old Raoul, he would have stood there stiffly like a bewildered bull terrier.

Max then replied to me, "I know neither of these gentlemen, but I saw the one," he gestured toward Erik, "take hold of the other's throat in the street, and I hastened to the rescue."

"I thank you for your concern Max," I said, "But I believe neither gentleman shall be hurt while I am here."

He eyed Erik suspiciously, "I cannot be sure of that," he told me, "What could you do to prevent it?"

"Max, this is not your concern, I can hardly divulge all my private affairs to you, go lurk outside the house if you please, but leave this property at once," I replied sharply, the annoyance seeping into my voice.

"Oh, go on man, you need not worry, this lady has saved my life once, and I will trust her with it again." Raoul inserted, and once again I sent a surprised glance his way. He had indeed matured.

Max reluctantly gave a shallow bow, and left the room. I breathed a visible sigh of relief.

"Now," requested Erik coldly, "Please inform this young villain of his sins."

"But Erik, I cannot, you see . . ." I exclaimed, but got no further.

"What? Do you defend him? Do you love him even now after he abandoned you?"

"Do you Christine?" Raoul asked, half flippantly, half seriously, and I felt an urge for hysterical laughter. Was he trying to sign his death warrant?

My eye saw Erik's quick movement, and in fear I blurted out, "Erik, Raoul is not Belle's father!"

Erik's hand fell to his side, and thought I saw shock and hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he shuttered his expression, responding with a terse, "Indeed."

"No," I said, my voice low.

"Then I must ask you Madame, if this gentleman has ever caused you any harm?"

"None at all," I said.

"I hope, I very much hope you are not lying to me. You do realize you will be required to concoct a suitable explanation."

"I hardly need to concoct anything Erik, since I have one readymade at my fingertips," I retorted, stung by his attitude.

"Indeed," Erik said again, and I felt unaccountably irritated by that one word. "We will now take our leave of you Vicomte, I apologize for the inconvenience."

"Yes, I am terribly sorry Raoul," I told him.

By now he was up, and he approached me with a wary smile, "You must talk to me soon Christine, you seem to have . . . _done_ much since I last saw you."

I sighed, "Perhaps I will," I replied, sending a glance Erik's way but deciding to ignore his forbidding profile. At this moment he probably did not care what I did with myself.

"Goodbye," I said, and regally preceded Erik out of the room.

Once on the street Erik offered me his arm, and I stiffly took it.

"I must inform you that you look positively ridiculous Christine," he told me in biting accents, "You still have a kerchief tied up on your head."

Consternation flooded though me, obviously any attempt I had been making to look dignified had been a complete sham. But the other two gentlemen had been too polite to question me on my appearance. However, I did not betray my dismay to Erik, merely replying, "I am walking with a man in a mask, I hardly think my kerchief will be noted."

After that a frigid silence reigned for the rest of the journey home.

Once we entered the house, Belle almost immediately emerged, and ran up to me.

"Why mother, have you been out? And wearing a kerchief?" she gave a giggle.

I forced my features to relax into a smile, "Yes, and very careless it was of me too. Now where is your aunt? Will you fetch her and tell to come to the parlor?"

"Yes mother," Belle answered, and skipped off to do my bidding.

"I will be right back," I informed Erik, "If you will await me in the parlor."

"Certainly," he replied, turning and leaving.

I sighed wearily, at the very least I would be dressed for this encounter. I needed better clothing than this to boost my spirits.

When I returned down stairs some minutes later, I walked up to the parlor and, mentally marshalling my forces, entered the room. Antoinette and Erik were inside, she was sitting calmly on a divan, but he was leaning forward against the wall, his back to me and one hand supporting his form.

"Antoinette," I said, "I think Erik and I need some time alone, and we must be assured that there are no interruptions. Will you take Belle out to the park, or on some errands?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea to me," Antoinette replied, and as she left, she patted me on the cheek, saying softly, "Be brave."

If only I could! I thought. I glanced over at Erik. He had turned to face me, and his expression was grave, but he did not look as angry as he had earlier. For that I was thankful. Erik was so unpredictable, and I could not tell how he might react, but I at least I would not start this interview with his anger intact.

I took a seat on the divan, but did not ask Erik to sit; I doubted he would, and I was not sure I wanted him so close. We both listened quietly for some time to the sounds of Antoinette and Belle leaving the house.

All too soon a foreboding silence descended and I knew it was time for me to start my tale.

Clearing my throat I started to speak, avoiding Erik's gaze, this first part was actually one of the hardest! "When . . . when you told me leave that night," I began, and we both knew which night I was speaking of, "I was confused, I was tired, Raoul was pulling at me, you were shouting at me, otherwise . . ." I faltered, and I could feel his gaze boring into me, "otherwise I would never have left," I could hear his breathing quicken, but I continued hastily, "In fact I tried to go back as soon as the boat reached the other shore, but Raoul soon showed me how useless such an action would be. The very next day I left and returned to your house, but you were already gone."

I then dared to look up at him and surprised a look of despair on his face. Oh God it hurt!

"Christine . . ." he said, his voice husky, "Why . . ."

I put up a hand, "Erik let me finish, or I am afraid I will never do so." He gave his assent with silence.

"I then lived in your home. I am afraid I was quite the trespasser; I stole your money, and used your house."

"As if I cared," I heard him mutter fiercely, but I continued.

"I . . .had to go up to the surface a couple times, and the second time I was, well, accosted by a robber. He took my money and got me with child." I related baldly.

"Christine!" I heard him exclaim, his voice almost tortured, then he walked over to me and dropped on his knees before me, taking my hands, "Oh God, how you have suffered!"

I averted my gaze from him, tears in my eyes, "Let me finish," I begged in a choked voice. I could hardly bear the concerned expression of his eyes, but I went on.

"I discovered I was with child while still at your house, it was then I sought out Madame Giry. She was my angel, and took care of me all through the birthing and afterwards. But . . . but we needed money desperately, and eventually I met a very nice gentleman. He offered me support, a home, passage to England, and, most importantly, a way out of the poverty I could see looming over my daughter and I. So I took the offer; oh Erik I could see no other way! After that I engaged in several similar liaisons and well . . I have done many things since then I am not proud of."

Erik's grasp on my hands tightened, and he exclaimed, "Do you think I care?" surprising me with the vehemence in his voice. "Oh Christine, have I not done much worse than you? You did what you needed to survive, while I have killed for no reason at all! Much of this I had already guessed, I just named the wrong man." His gaze darkened, "If I could lay hands on him . . ." But then his eyes softened once more as he looked at me, and he rose to sit next to me, attempting to pull me into his arms.

But I shoved him away violently.

"I don't want your pity Erik!"

"You accuse me of pity! Think who you speak to! I, who has known nothing but pity and hate? Christine I cannot believe you would say that! God, I feel sorry for what you have gone through. Even now I despair for what could have been! Oh Christine even as you were living in my home, for two days I lay in a tunnel leading from my house. If only I had returned! Yes I feel despair! I also feel awe that you have endured so much with such strength, but mostly, mostly I feel love for the beautiful, strong, and vibrant woman who even now resists my touch. No! Do not accuse me of pity!"

With that he roughly dragged me into his arms, and I was glad to finally be there, truly in the sanctuary of his arms with no lies between us. Feeling his strong arms about me was blissful, and my body relaxed as I lay there. However, I still choked back my sobs determinedly.

"Cry, cry Christine," Erik urged me softly, "You need to."

I felt the tears of a lifetime burgeon up in me, and clinging to him I finally allowed them to spill over, my body shaking violently with the force of my sobs.

(a/n) Well then there ya go. Review! (a/n)


	15. Candles and Matches

(a/n) I really want to apologize for taking so long to update. As a reader, I know how frustrating it can be. However, my muse has not been nice to me. Now, it seems a little more attentive than before, so hopefully I can get out my chapters faster. In fact, I almost want to promise this next chapter will be out before the end of the week. So keep tuned, I do hope you haven't forgotten what's going on since its been so long.

There were many things I meant to get to in this chapter, things I just didn't get around to. However, I promise loads of action in the next chapter grins

Oh, and drummroll: I actually got this chapter betaed and the masses rejoice so that added a few days onto your time. The beta is Rosemask on Aria. Three cheers for her.

I love you my reviewers, never doubt it. Thanks to angelofnight, erik'sangel527, Amandam17, Leesainthesky, unseenhope18, jlauren1224, Jinxd n cursed, Mini Nicka, The EarthSong, LostSchizophrenic, Sue Raven, Fingolfia, Ziroana, monroe-mary, SabrinaFair, Padme Nijiri, longblacksatinlace, kate, ae28, Redheaded woman, LoverofBalto, and JennyWren

Angelofnight: Are you afraid you scared me off::grin: Don't worry you won't get rid of me that easily! I'm glad you don't think its as bad as you thought.

JennyWren: Thank you, its such a tribute, especially when someone reads all the chapters at once.

LoverofBalto: Thank you! I'm glad you like the characterizations.

Fingolfia: Sorry . . .

Redheadwoman: Thanks! I'm glad you like Erik and Belle together, I have really enjoyed writing their interactions.

Ae28: I'm glad you like this chapter! You want some help posting? Email me if you like.

Longblacksatinlace: Welcome to the bandwagon! I hope you enjoy the ride.

Padme Nijiri: Awww melodrama, how I love thee.

SabrinaFair: Thanks for noting the typo, glad you liked the chapter.

Monroe-mary: Glad you enjoyed the last chapter, if you can remember it, I put some Erik reflection in here. Oh, and if you recall, Christine spoke to Max while she and Reggie were at dinner, and they were pretty familiar already.

The EarthSong: I'm glad you like my story! I'm glad you like backbone, and giving Christine a story of her own is exactly what I wanted to do. I am definitely partial to a Kay Erik, especially if I am writing him. Oh, on the handwriting, I guess that's an after effect of the movie, in which his handwriting is quite nice I believe. Also, I guess I think his little notes would lose power if people had to squint to decipher the handwriting.

Thanks to all of you again, I really want to reply to everyone, but the reality of time intervenes.

I hope you guys aren't too let down after waiting so long, but here it is.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Erik**

Christine's tears had ceased, her breathing had grown less frenzied, and her body more relaxed. But the more relaxed she became, the tenser I became; I was steadily becoming more and more aware of her soft body pressed up against mine. Her measured breathes caressed my throat, her fragrant hair tickled my cheek, and her rounded curves connected with my body in the most tantalizing places.

I tightened my arms around her.

She responded by nuzzling my neck, sending shivers of sensation through me, and I wondered if she knew the thoughts she was rousing in me. Then she pressed a warm kiss on the tender skin just below my jaw, and I was sure she did.

My body was flooded with warmth, and I could feel "a strange kind of sickness" coming on, only now perhaps there was a balm, a strange kind of balm, that both soothed and excited the inflammation.

I held Christine away from me a little, anxiously searching her eyes. She stared up at me, her soft brown eyes intensified by amber flecks that seemed to sparkle, unashamedly revealing her passion and desire to my gaze.

I drew in a breath, and, tipping her head up, brought my lips so close to hers we were almost touching, our breath intermingling. For just a moment I remained still, afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty would vanish, like a broken silence. Then with one accord we moved together, our lips meeting in a tumultuous kiss, as unlike the moment before as a storm that follows an eerie calm. Christine met my every move with one of her own, and there could be no doubt that she wanted this just as much as I.

No one desired to bring this encounter to its natural conclusion more than I, but a niggling thought intruded upon my drugged state, and I reluctantly pulled away from Christine's clinging lips.

"Christine," I said huskily, "We don't know when they will be back."

She sighed audibly, moving her hands down my shoulders. "Yes, you are right," she said, her voice filled with regret, and I could not help but be gratified by her obvious disappointment.

Bringing my hand up, I gently tucked an errant curl behind her ear, before trailing my fingers lightly over the curve of her cheek and down along her jaw line, tracing the ever fascinating contours of her face.

"I would do this the right way Christine, with no fear of interruption, no distractions."

I heard her drew in a deep breath, but her only response was to turn slightly and lean back against me, finding my hand and entwining her fingers with my own.

We sat there together, comfortable in each other's embrace, well . . . moderately comfortable. My mind was naturally drawn to Christine's revelations, and I briefly thought of how I had misjudged the boy, but could not really find it within me to feel guilty over my recent intrusion on his life. After all, he had come to no harm.

Instead, I reflected on Christine's nameless perpetrator, the man who had torn her innocence from her, forcing her into a life of . . . my mind quickly glazed over this thought, as it was wont to do, focusing instead on the source of her unhappiness. I wished now to have this man under my merciless hand, almost as much as I had wished for Christine to love me so long ago.

This thought brought to my mind the center of Christine's revelations, the center that had been swirling just under the surface of my mind ever since the words had emitted from her mouth. Vividly I remembered my desperate plea to God, "Please, God let her love me and I promise to be good forever. . ," and just as vividly I remembered her subsequent betrayal with that boy on the roof. At that moment, I had hated God as never before, but now it seemed that God had granted my wish. He had completed his end of the bargain, but in such a twisted way that I could not find it in my heart to be grateful.

She had returned to me. The very next day she had come to find me, and I had not known, had not even considered the possibility. So instead we had spent nine years apart, nine years during which I had believed the woman I loved had rejected me. However, perhaps the cruelest blow of all was the fact that I had lain in a passageway for three days, so near to her and yet so far away. How could God have allowed such a cruel mischance? Perhaps it was the same malicious sense of humor that had given me my voice, and deprived me of my face. Yes, this was the God I knew.

Even now I was unsure, unable to fully accept that, for once, fortune might be smiling upon me. Insecurity still gnawed at my mind, and despite all the evidence I found it hard to believe that Christine might love me. It was almost easy to accept that she had loved me nine years ago, in comparison to believing that she loved me now. The past was abstract, but this, this was reality. In my reality, Christine had never loved me.

Even now, she had not said so, and it worried me. I told myself that there had been no time and that she was overcome with her tears and emotions. As evidence, I presented myself with her affectionate behavior towards me, her willing kisses, but the doubt was always there, just at the back of my mind. All my life I had been suspicious of affection, an insidious habit, only striking when I dared to imagine someone might care for me.

It presented to me foolish reasons for Christine's show of affection, but I admit that I am not always reasonable. I was reminded that Christine had always earned her living in this manner, by offering herself up, and that I was easier prey than most, asking less of her than all the rest. A less hurtful explanation, but just as fatal, was that she wished to have me as a father for Belle—that she encouraged me for the girl's sake, and not her own.

I resolutely pushed my doubts away—time would tell the truth. Instead I frowned as I thought about Christine living under the Opera house, true it had only been a few months and I had lived there for years. The Christine of so many years ago had been delicate, and I could not imagine her living alone in a dark, dank cellar, with only her undoubtedly depressing thoughts for company. She had, however, and as I gazed down at her head I imagined that dwelling under the Opera House had been one in a long series of events responsible for creating the complex creature I was holding today.

Suddenly I wondered if she had ever returned to the house in the fifth cellar.

"Christine . . ."

"Hmmm?"

"Did you ever return to the cellars, well after . . ."

I could feel her heart beat quicken against me, and although I was slightly puzzled at first I attributed it to the reference to past events..

"No, have you?" she asked slowly, and it could have been my imagination, but I thought I heard an undertone of apprehension in her voice.

"No, I could not before, but I now I think I could bear it, and perhaps it might even be a good idea to try and banish some of the ghosts of the past," I suggested, trying to see if I had only imagined her uneasiness.

"Oh . . ." Christine uttered, "I don't know, it seems unnecessary . . . and it could be unstable or something, oh and just think of all of the diseases down there . . ." she trailed off, giving a convincing shudder.

My lips curved upwards ever so slightly; the little actress! I was now certain that for some reason Christine did not want me to return to the cellars, and I did not believe fear of disease was the source of her concern. My curiosity was piqued—now I had to go down once more.

"My dear, I helped build those foundations. Trust me, they are fine. As for the diseases I lived down there for years. Don't you remember?" I asked, allowing my amusement to seep into my voice.

She gave what sounded remarkably like a huff to me, and said, "At least promise you won't go without me Erik."

"What? Just a moment ago you didn't want me to venture near the unstable structure and diseased air, and now you wish to accompany me?"

"Well, maybe it will be fine near your house," she suggested vaguely.

"Not convincing at all Christine, you can't turn sensible after you shudder like that."

At this she started up, twisting her head round to look at me, "What exactly do you mean by that?" she demanded.

At that moment there was a knock on the door.

"I'll get it," Christine said, disentangling herself from my embrace, and shooting me a glance that declared our conversation was not over, before leaving the room.

In the hall I could hear voices, and soon divined it had merely been Belle and Madame Giry; no doubt the wise lady had wished to give us warning of her return.

Now, I thought, would be an excellent time to pay the Opera House a visit. I just needed some candles and matches, and I would be set. Stealthily, I made my way to the kitchen and deprived the pantry a box of candles and a box of matches. I could still hear Christine engaged in conversation with Belle, and I was about to depart through the back door when I remembered the chill of the cellars. I needed my cloak, and my cloak was past Christine, by the door.

I listened carefully, and soon heard steps on the stairs; I couldn't tell if two or three people had mounted the staircase, so I nonchalantly strode out into the hall to investigate.

The hall was empty.

Cautiously I approached the parlor, and briefly glanced in to ascertain that it too was empty. Conscious of the need to depart quickly, I grabbed my cloak, swinging it over me even as I exited.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

**Christine**

Emerging swiftly from my hiding place, just beyond the door of the dining room, which connected to the parlor, I hurriedly donned a hat, and glanced down ruefully at my unsuitable dress. It was not fit for walking, however I needed to hurry, and at least it would not matter if it was ruined in the cellars of the Opera House. Just before leaving I grabbed the purse of money from the front hall drawer, placed there for our convenience should any little errand need to be dispatched.

I quickly left the house, turning down the street just in time to see Erik's billowing form turn the corner. At least I did not have guess where he was headed, I was fairly certain of his destination: the Rue Scribe entrance. While I had resided under the Opera House I had always used the exit that ran over the lake and out through my dressing room, however I had known that at least one exit led directly from Erik's house to the outside world. Indeed, he had taken me that route on the night we had visited the Bois, but because of the lock and, I confess, fear of the relatively unknown, I had avoided it.

This exit led to the Rue Scribe, and this was why I was following Erik. I could probably have detained him, and hopefully descended to the cellars before him later on, however I had no wish to navigate the lake after so many years. At the very least, the boat had probably rotted and sunk years ago.

No, I needed him to lead me in through the Rue Scribe entrance, and I thought I could achieve my object far more easily by stealth.

I was determined to retrieve those dreadful letters before he discovered them!

I had written those letters out of the depths of my soul nine years ago, using them as a way to pour out all of my despair and longing. I did not want Erik to read them—especially now that we already had a relationship of sorts. For one, he did not need to feel any more guilt than he might already harbor, and secondly I could hardly even remember what foolish sentiments I might have committed to paper. If I ever let Erik see the letters, I certainly did not want him to do so before I had the chance to reread them. Hopefully they had all rotted away!

If I knew Erik, he might let me read them first, but he would certainly insist on reading them no matter what my sentiments were.

By now I had turned the corner and once again had Erik in my sights, I panted, slightly out of breath, and wondered if he would walk the entire way to the Opera House. He appeared to have read my mind, because almost immediately he stopped and waved down a cab. It was late afternoon and the cabs were out for business in abundance, most devoid of passengers as they waited for the social flurry of the evening to begin, so Erik had no trouble hailing a cab. Neither did I, although I felt remarkably foolish ordering the man to the follow Erik's cab. However, I had pressed money into the driver's hand the moment I had stopped him, so he made no protest.

As we traversed the busy Paris streets, I could hardly keep from anxiously looking out the cab window to make sure Erik was still just ahead. I didn't think we had lost him, but all the cabs looked so much alike that I could not tell. I had to trust the driver to keep on his track.

When the cab stopped, I cautiously looked out the window, worried that Erik might see me, but also worried that his cab had stopped minutes ago and that I would lose him. As I looked out the window I clearly saw that we were on the Rue Scribe side of the Opera House, but I saw no trace of Erik, and my heart fell. Then I saw a gate loosely held by an open lock. A few stairs led down beyond the gate and then disappeared into darkness.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I quickly exited the cab, pressing additional funds upon the man, and telling him he need not wait. Glancing around me, I approached the gate. As I neared the iron bars I could see why the lock was open: it was rusted through and would no longer close. I had thought it odd that Erik would leave a gate unlocked, but this explained the matter satisfactorily.

I opened the gate, careful to loosely fasten the lock again, once on the other side. As I was about to immerse myself in the darkness, I realized with dismay I had not even considered the need for a light. Did I dare go down this passage with no illumination? Even as I pondered my predicament my eye was drawn to something lying on the ground just inside the passage.

To my relief, I saw it was a candle and a box of matches. Had Erik left it there? He must have, and although I was somewhat puzzled as to why, I could only suppose Erik had his reasons, he always did.

Gratefully, I picked up the candle, struck a match, and brought the flame up to the wick, watching it flare to life. Although a single candle, the soft glow made all of the difference in the dark passage. Holding the candle in one hand, and the box of matches in the other, I started down the passage. At first I proceeded slowly, but as I grew more confident and remembered the need for haste I quickened my pace. The passage was certainly unpleasant, but I repressed my qualms, determinedly moving forward. In addition to my determination, I suspect the knowledge that Erik was within increased my feeling of safety greatly.

The passage seemed to go on forever, and the candle's wax was dripping uncomfortably onto my hand. I was beginning to think that the end would never come, when I perceived a slight difference in the darkness ahead of me. It started to appear less inpenetratable, and repressing my urge to hurry my steps, I slowed, determined to remain undiscovered by Erik for as long as possible.

I snuffed my candle out before creeping up to the end of the tunnel. Once there I could see no lights, and although I had hoped to see some indication of Erik's presence, I was not worried. A light inside Erik's house was very hard to detect from outside.

Confident that Erik was within the house, I stepped out from the tunnel, only to have a strong arm snake around my middle and pull me against a hard form.

Instinctively I screamed, before feeling warm breath against my ear, "Really my dear, such theatrics. Sadly there is no audience—no one can hear you down here you know."

"Erik," I exclaimed, attempting to jab him in the ribs. He had no right to frighten me like that!

"If you wanted to be alone with me Christine, I'm sure we could have made a much more comfortable arrangement," he said, his voice teasing. Reluctantly, I felt my anger begin to defuse.

"Why would you do that to me?" I asked with half-hearted indignation.

"Why were you following me?" he retorted, a challenge in his voice.

"Why did _you_ sneak out of the house?" I returned triumphantly, determined to put him in the wrong.

"Why were you watching to see if I would sneak out of the house?"

"Humph! You're the one who cleverly avoided promising not to come down here without me!"

"Well you, my dear, are obviously the one with something to hide. What can it be I wonder?"

Now the questions were becoming decidedly uncomfortable, but I swiftly sought to cover my uneasiness.

"I wonder why you assume I had anything to hide. I was just naturally concerned for your safety."

"Oh, is that why you snuffed the candle out before you left the tunnel? To make sure the light didn't hurt my eyes?" Erik asked, sarcasm tingeing his voice.

"Well you snuffed out your own!" I replied rather childishly.

"Speaking of, I do hope you brought the matches because neither of us has any light at the moment." Erik said. I was very thankful that he had changed the subject, but still more than a little wary. Suddenly I had a thought. He must have left me the candle on purpose—in fact he must have known I was following him! While it was perhaps chivalrous to provide me with light, it was also very frustrating. Did the man know everything?

I handed him the box. "I suppose you left these there because you knew I was following you."

"Aren't you even going to say thank you? And I thought I was being so chivalrous," he said mockingly as he lighted his candle, the flame illuminating his features eerily—casting his white half mask into ever greater relief.

Mutely, I held out my candle, watching as his flame flickered and licked at the wick, before engulfing it entirely. He drew his hand away then, and I could feel his eyes upon me, so like the golden flames of our twin candles. I shivered, although not from the cold, and swiftly redirected my thoughts.

"Shall we go into the house?" I asked, repressing the urge to run in and throw my body over the coffin. That was where I had left all those letters . . . in the coffin.

"As you wish, my dear," he murmured, offering his arm. I took it and we strolled up to the door like any normal civilized couple

(a/n) Cheers, I hope you like it! Leave me nice reviews and I promise to update quickly. J/K Leave me whatever kind of reviews you like and I make no promises (although I really am going to try, I don't want to lose momentum) (a/n)


	16. Back From the Grave

(a/n) Hey guys! My reviewers I adore you! You keep me going, some of you have literally been egging me on in the last week, lol, but it helps so keep it up.

This chapter has exhausted me, fluff and what not. Speaking of, this has become mature, I was unsure about taking the plunge and I tried looking up rules but couldn't find any. So I upped the rating, and hope that will do.

If I disappear you will know its because they kicked me off, but I can still be found at Aria. The address for my fic at Aria is in my profile as always. **Actually now this chapter is different at Aria. I was afraid it was too explicit here, I guess I'm just too used to reading fics at Aria which is full of this kind of content. Anyway, the end of the chapter is still mature and its beginning is marked by a warning. Christine: warning.**

Well go to it::drops chapter in reader's laps and flees:(a/n)

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Christine**

Once at the door Erik disengaged his arm from mine, bending gracefully to retrieve something from the ground. When he rose, he handed it to me, and I saw it was a box of candles.

"Did you bring these with you?" I asked

"Yes, if we plan to see anything in detail, we will need far more light than just two candles can provide," he replied, his eyes glinting, and I knew he was making a veiled reference to my secret.

"Of course," I answered casually, refusing to be drawn.

Erik held my gaze for just a moment before turning to look at the door; its cleverly concealed catch had protected him in the past, now the rusty lock might keep us out.

I held the box as Erik's hands deftly examined the door's mechanism.

The door had not escaped the mob's violence and my attempts to fix it had been clumsy at best. As a result the catch had been difficult even nine years ago. Now I feared it would be downright impossible, but I knew that Erik's nimble fingers could accomplish wonders.

Sure enough, in a few minutes the lock sprung with a satisfying click, and the door's protesting hinges condescended to slowly swing open.

As I gazed into the gaping darkness the door revealed, more than ever I felt as if I was staring into the past, as if all I had to do was step through that doorway and time would fall away.

I closed my eyes, and in depths of my mind I could hear the strains of the organ, the haunting words of _Don Juan Triumphant_.

The voice of my memory called me to the present with a mundane request for the box of candles, and my eyes snapped open, my face instantly flushing.

Thankfully the cover of darkness hid me from Erik's discerning gaze as he looked questioningly at me from inside the door. How easily he had entered that portal!

I saw that he was holding a candelabra in one hand, cobwebs gruesomely stretched out between the arms. I gave a little shudder at the sight, reminded that the house no doubt contained many of the little creatures that I loathed. How I hated spiders!

"Christine, will you set the candles into the candelabra?" Erik requested patiently.

Eying the cobwebs nervously, I bravely assented, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house with Erik. Unsurprisingly nothing changed. There, I told myself, nothing to merit all this fuss.

I fitted out the candelabra appropriately, and Erik lit all the candles, the added light immediately revealing the shining threads of even more cobwebs.

I mentally decided that I needed to find another candelabra, not only for more light, but because I refused to be dependant on Erik for my light. I did, after all, still have a mission to complete. I set the box of candles down onto the same hall table Erik must have retrieved the candelabra from, when I did find another candelabra retrieving the candles would be an excellent excuse to leave Erik.

Then I looked up, and saw that Erik was offering me his hand, the other holding the candelabra high, his mask glinting in the candlelight, and his black cloak flowing smoothly down from his broad shoulders. In a flash I was sixteen again, a mesmerized girl ready to trust her Angel of Music.

With a little sigh I placed my hand within his, only now he did not lead, but we walked side by side, fingers clasped as we traveled through the shadows of our past.

We walked silently through the rooms, each caught up in our own reflections. Our footsteps echoed through the dining room, and kitchen, through the parlor, and into the library.

Only there did we stop, our minds resting in the room that held so many memories—so many tender recollections, and so much pain. My eyes floated over the fireplace, the books, and the settee in succession. I remembered Erik reading to me, his voice soothing and hypnotizing, lulling me into a timeless state where only his voice had existed. Almost at the same time we turned to look at each other, and my mouth opened of its own accord, "I remember . . . you reading to me Erik, how much I loved the sound of your voice!"

"I remember . . ," he answered, his brow lowering, "I knew my voice to be my only attraction."

"Oh, not your only attraction Erik!" I exclaimed, sounding unnaturally loud in the silence, and I lowered it, trailing off into a silence, "only one of your attractions . . ."

His hand tightened over mine, his gaze glowing warm upon my face, but his eyes also held some bitter reflections, and I knew he was thinking that surely if I had felt that way, our romance would not have been doomed.

There was still so much left unsaid between us, still so much left to explain, but I found that after nine years of hiding my emotions, of sealing my deepest thoughts into the cellar of my soul, revealing those very same things did not come easily.

We both lapsed into silence again, and as I surveyed the room my eyes rested upon the little pile of unused envelopes coated with dust on the desk. My heart gave a little start at the sight, and although I knew they were not my letters the alarm suddenly made finding those letters of the utmost import.

I looked about for an answer, and seeing another candelabra on a table near the side of the room, I said softly, calmly, "Oh, another candelabra Erik, I should light that one too."

"If you wish," he replied, and I could detect no suspicion in his voice. "We left the candles in the hall, I will have to go back. Here, I will just take one of these lighted candles."

"No, it's alright," I said, trying to sound nonchalant, "I can go."

He made no protest, merely handing me the candle, and I wondered if I was being too blatant. Erik had an uncanny ability of detecting a plot on the barest of hints. Oh well, I could but try.

I returned to the hall quickly, intent on my purpose now. I replaced all the old candles, and then, my heart pounding, made my way to Erik's old bedroom. The door was not closed and I entered slowly. Once inside, I pushed the door it until only a crack was left open—I was wary of actually shutting it and enclosing myself in the darkness of the room. I then turned and looked before me.

There was the coffin, closed, just as I had left it, lying in all its grotesque glory beneath the black canopy.

Timidly I approached the coffin and knelt before it, setting the candelabra down on the floor. Taking a deep breath, I placed my fingertips beneath the lid, pulling up, but there were no results. I put more strength into it, straining hard to pull it up. Suddenly it gave and slid off a little, revealing the barely illuminated outlines of envelopes within.

I glanced apprehensively over my shoulder. What was I going to do now? I had only focused on getting to the letters before he did! The possibility that he would look into the coffin if he came here alone had been a risk I could not take, but perhaps I could find a place to put them where he would not look and then I could return at a more opportune moment.

I had no time, however, to find such a hiding place, I saw a glimmer of light shine through the door and I knew Erik was coming.

Swiftly I ran round to the other side and pushed the lid back onto the coffin, managing to stand up just before the door swung open.

I tried to look as if I was just taking in my surroundings, as if I had no special purpose in being here, but I knew my secretive method of coming here was bound to look suspicious.

"Ah, there you my dear," Erik said in a chiding tone, "It was not very considerate of you to come here without telling me, I could have been worried."

"I'm sorry," I said, "I just wanted to see it, to think about the past you know."

"I see," he replied, his voice bland, he looked around for a moment, then said, "I think, I think I should look into the coffin, how morbid that thing is, but then it suited my mood when I lived down here. I was as good as dead."

"I don't know Erik, perhaps it would be better if you didn't, I mean there is no need to reflect on such things."

"Isn't that what you were just doing? Don't worry my dear, I shall be fine."

With that he moved toward the coffin, and in a desperate attempt to prevent him from opening it I practically threw myself on top of it—my legs straddling its form, my skirt riding up my thighs.

"No Erik!" I shouted, "You shouldn't!"

Briefly I wondered if he had known what he was doing all along, and as he answered me, his voice amused, I had my answer.

"So your secret lies in the coffin does it? Are you hiding a body my dear? You should know that I would be the last person to be shocked by such a thing. I am hardly a stranger to death."

I glared at him a moment, and then answered defiantly, "Yes, I didn't want to tell you before, but I killed a man and hid his body down here in the coffin. We really shouldn't open it now, after all, the smell if bound to be atrocious, and I for one have no desire to view a rotted body."

"Oh I think I should look, my fascination for death is insatiable you know, and you can always avert your eyes," he said softly, his voice still light, but with a note of steel underlying all the amusement.

Still I did not move, frozen in place, as I could think of nothing else to do to prevent this moment.

"If you won't move my dear, I shall just have to help you up," Erik said, advancing on me.

His large hands swiftly wrapped around my waist and in one powerful movement he had lifted my struggling form up and off the coffin.

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Erik**

As I set Christine down on the floor, she glared at me, and I longed to kiss away her frown. My hands lingered on the contours of her waist, but this was not the time for such thoughts.

I would not be distracted from my purpose now.

I turned toward the coffin, and Christine made no move to stop me. No doubt she knew I would win any battle of strength, although I would never hurt her.

I stopped just before it and turned to her, "Why don't you just tell me what is in here Christine?"

She bit her lip, and her posture seemed relax just a bit, as if the fight was draining from her, "It hardly matters now, you shall see for yourself soon enough," she replied with a little sigh.

I put my fingers beneath the lid of the coffin, ready to remove it, and felt a brief shiver of apprehension. I really could not imagine what she felt she had to hide from me.

The lid slid off with a mournful grating sound, revealing . . . envelopes? I picked up a candelabra and held it over the coffin just to make sure. I had not been mistaken, those truly were envelopes nestled in the lining of the coffin.

Had Christine written all these? I turned my head, "Letters Christine?"

She nodded her head ever so slightly, and seemed about to speak, but hesitated.

In that minute thoughts crowded my head. What could be in those letters that would make Christine so desperate to keep them from me? Suddenly I felt sick at imagined possibilities. Suppose she had hated me after what that man had done to her and written to tell me so! Or perhaps she had regretted leaving the Vicomte and these were all letters declaring her love for him.

Thankfully Christine spoke, "Erik, look at who those letters are addressed to."

I reached in and picked up several, dust flying up into the light from the candelabra. The paper felt brittle to my fingers, and the ink on the envelopes was faded, but that faded ink all said the same thing: Erik.

"I wrote all of those letters to you Erik, I . . . had no one to talk to when I was living down here, so instead I put all my feelings, all my experiences down on paper. There is nothing in there that you do not already know, I swear. At one time I imagined you might find them some day, but I never imagined you would find me first."

"But Christine, I don't understand why you don't want me to read them?"

"Oh Erik, I just didn't want to dredge up the past. It was one thing to tell you what happened, but I didn't want to revisit that time in all its painful detail. I didn't want you to see it either. I just feel like it would be pointless and foolish, harmful even, to revive such horrible memories. I want to put all of that behind me, it should remain sealed up in that coffin like the dead thing it is."

"Christine it's not dead! Can't you see that it still haunts me? Besides, now I need to read this letters, to know what they contain, can't you tell that unless I do so I will never cease to wonder just what you wrote? Christine trust me, if all is as you say, only good can come of this."

Both of us were silent for just a second, and I could sense Christine's indecision, I repeated myself softly, pleading with her, "Trust me."

Finally she replied, her voice uncertain at first but then gaining in confidence, "All right . . . but I would have your trust in return. I . . . I want you take off your mask Erik, if am to bare my soul to you, the least you can do is trust me in the same manner. Erik I want to see your face while you read these letters."

Take off my mask! My heart beat quickened as I looked at her. Christine had not seen my face uncovered since . . . since that dreadful day, the night we had parted for nine years. She thought she didn't care, but nine years is a long time, she could not possibly remember the full impact of my distorted visage, memory fades in time. I did not want to reveal it to her and once again see the horror and disgust in her face.

I wanted to refuse, but at the same time I knew that this was a test of our relationship. I would have to reveal my face to her at some time if we were to ever truly trust each other. I was asking Christine to let me see her pain in all its raw detail, and showing her my face in all its raw detail was, I supposed, a fair exchange.

Besides, at least I was not baring my face to the harsh light of day, but rather the more gentle and forgiving candlelight.

Still watching me, Christine whispered, "Trust me," her pleading words echoing my own.

Slowly I replied, the words rusty in my mouth, "I agree, I will take off my mask."

I could hear the swift intake of her breath, and her eyes rested upon my face expectantly.

I closed my eyes, unable to watch her face as my fingers tentatively grasped the side of the mask, before pulling it off in one swift movement. I heard nothing in response but Christine's regular breath, and just as I was working up the courage to open my eyes I felt warm breath upon my malformed cheek, and then soft lips. After that I could not open my eyes—so exquisite was the sensation I felt upon that moment. An intense combination of longing, disbelief, and happiness twisted almost painfully in the core of my being and I felt a tear seep out of one eyelid.

Christine's lips finished their exploration of my skin, and moving to my lips, clung there for just a moment in a tender kiss.

Then she knelt back, and I opened my eyes to stare straight into her own, my tears mirrored in her eyes. I reached forward and gently wiped a tear off her cheek with my thumb. Neither of us spoke, but no words were needed.

I steadied myself, focusing on the task at hand, the reading of the letters. I turned and pulled them all out of the coffin, and they scattered in a tumbled mass on the floor. With a frown I realized I would not know where to start and raised my questioning face up to Christine.

"Here," she said leaning over to look at them, "I think after a while I started dating the envelopes themselves, only the first few should be undated."

As she rifled through the pile, still I wondered at her response to my face, glorying in her tender kisses, but almost more in the way she now she acted—as if it did not even exist, as if the right side of my face was just as perfectly formed as the left.

She isolated a few letters and began to open them, looking at the dates, until she came to one that she pulled out. She began reading and I could hear her breathing quicken, then abruptly she thrust the letter at me.

"Here, this is the first, I think it might actually be better if you read them first, then I won't be tempted to stop you."

I accepted the letter and settled down to read, adjusting the candelabras to cast their full light upon the words.

_My Dearest Erik,_

_I hardly know how to start. Erik, I made a terrible mistake, I should never have left you. My only excuse is my confusion. My angel, you shocked and frightened me. After the death of Buquet I hardly knew what to believe. This was not the gentle, kind angel whom I had known before. I never loved Raoul as I love you, only as a sweet friend, but he seemed so safe and I allowed him to comfort me with childish promises of summertime and never-ending truth. I regretted it afterwards, but by then I didn't know how to approach you. I felt trapped in a downward spiral of both our making. Only there at the end did I see my chance, there it no longer mattered what I had believed before. When I kissed you I knew I loved you, and that I could never be happy with Raoul. Even as I write this I can barely stop myself from scribbling those words all over the paper. I love you! I love you! I love you! _

Reading these words I felt a cacophony of emotions that melded into such an intensely bittersweet mixture that I could almost taste it in my mouth. Oh the words were sweet, a balm to wounds that I had carried for so very long, but mostly I was bitter, very bitter at what we had been denied, and I knew this is what Christine had not wanted me to feel.

I could feel her gaze upon me and she murmured, "I was so very young . . . so very young."

I knew it, and I knew that had handled her very badly, but then, I had been young too—young in the ways of love.

I resumed reading, composing myself, for surely the worst was yet to come.

_I returned to you my angel, the very next day, but you were gone. Still you are not here, but I am waiting. I wait for you . . ._

She wrote on telling me about her activities, and even those mundane details wrenched my soul for I knew what it was like to throw myself feverishly into activity in order to forget, to block out reality.

When I was done with one letter, Christine handed me the next, and I saw that it was dated more than two weeks after the first.

_Erik,_

_Something horrible has happened. At first I swore I would never tell anyone, that I would die and take my secret to the grave with me, but life is unmerciful and continues on. I find I need to tell someone about this, and even though writing a letter is a poor substitute, it is perhaps all I am brave enough to attempt._

_A man has forced himself upon me. There I have written it. I can hardly believe that terrible event can be captured in one small sentence. It was terrible and surreal all at the same time. At the time much of it seemed a nightmare, and even now I wish that it would prove to be so, but I cannot deceive myself—it definitely happened. When I think about it I feel lost, I feel robbed, something that I was supposed to keep sacred for my husband has been taken away from me, and what decent man would want me now? I just want to stay buried down here in your house forever. All the outside world holds for me now is a life of pain and the looming threat of a life on the streets. Shall I become a whore? _

At this point on the paper the word whore was blurred by tear marks and felt my own eyes grow wet, silently weeping with the Christine of the past.

_Yet in the end it may be a choice between that or death, and every day death becomes a more welcome thought. It has not come that yet, however, and thanks to your money I allow myself the smallest ration of hope. Most days I do not even think on my future, I prefer to put it out of my mind. I allow myself to think back to that time when you first brought me to your house, when you read to me, talked to me, and played for me. I admit, I was naïve at the time, I did not understand many of your feelings, but I still remember it as one of the happiest times of my life . . . ._

I read on, though letter after letter, some happier than others, some filled with black despair.

_. . . today I thought I heard your voice calling to me Erik, I thought I heard it coming from the water, I must have some sanity left to me yet because I did not follow that siren call into the depths of the lake. But I called to you, over and over again. I knew when you did not answer that it was just my deluded imagination . . ._

Towards the end the letters grew calmer, but it was an eerie calm, as if Christine lived in a numb daze, and if I had not known that she was sitting here beside me sane and alive I would have been frightened for her.

_. . . the potatoes are growing moldy, but I find that I have grown accustomed to their taste. Now I might find that fresh potatoes taste rather strange. How funny that I should be reflecting on the taste of potatoes, but I would much rather think about potatoes than other things . . . _

_. . . I have been reading your books Erik, I read today about traveling to Egypt, about the pyramids and the great desert. Did you see all those things Erik? I know you have been to the East, how I loved the stories you told me of those rosy hours in Persia. Perhaps one day I shall do go there . . ._

Then the letter I had been waiting for came: the last one.

_Darling Erik,_

_I have made a discovery. I have suspected now for some time, but I did not wish to think of it so I did not even write about my suspicions in my letters to you. I believe I am pregnant. How ironic that I, who am barely strong enough to survive on my own, should now be responsible for another life. I have been thinking about this for some time now, it has been days since I first decided that my pregnancy was certain and at first I despaired. I was selfish, but I always have been. I have always depended on someone else, I see that now. Only when I started to actually think about the little life within me did I regain my strength. _

_To know that a small being is growing within you is a wondrous thought, and I am determined that I shall not fail this child. I cannot hate it, at first I wanted to, I wanted to despise its very existence because of what it means, and because of its father. But I cannot. Instead I find a fierce protectiveness growing within me, and I begin to think that I would do anything for this child. It is so strange. Strength rises up within me that I never even knew I possessed. I have been living in a daze, but this child has jolted me awake. Not only must I survive for this child, but I must live, I can no longer merely exist from day to day as if there is no future. I have to think, to plan, to act, and because of this I have decided to look for Madame Giry. She is the only person that I can think to go to. So tomorrow I shall set out to look for her. If I do not find her I suppose that I shall return here, but if I do find her, this may be my last letter to you. _

_Erik, I almost feel as if by leaving your house I am leaving you forever. As if you were not already gone. I shall leave these letters in the coffin, and perhaps one day you shall find them. If you do I want you to know that loved you, that I accepted you. I accept all of you, your face, your body, your soul. I love you even now. I do not think I will ever stop loving you. I know that you must hate me now since you cannot know how I love you. You cannot know that I came back to you. Yet still I hope that sometimes you think of me, think of me fondly. _

_Forever yours, _

_Christine_

Tears were flowing freely down my cheeks now and I looked up to see that Christine was crying silently as well. Our eyes locked and the letter fluttered to the ground.

Simultaneously our fingers stretched out to one another, and I grasped her hands tightly, pulling her into my lap in one fluid moment. I needed to feel her warm form against me, to know that the past was really the past, that Christine was with me here and now, that she was actually real.

I gazed down at her for just a second, fascinated by the desire evident in her bright eyes, and in those molten orbs I did not see my deformed face, but instead for a moment I thought I could see perfection.

I felt deep emotion swell within me, wonder, happiness, and an all-consuming desire.

Fiercely I lowered my head and claimed her lips.

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Christine: warning**

Erik's lips descended to mine, masterful, powerful and demanding, and I very willingly yielded my lips to him.

We had kissed before, but this was unlike all the other times, now more than ever Erik wad completely in control, and I gloried in it. Too long I had practiced my skilled charms on men, forever in control of the situation, but now I wanted Erik to be master of the situation. I merely wanted to follow.

Erik's lips gentled, his kisses becoming long and lingering, and he drew every one like a thirsty man taking long draughts of sweet water.

"Christine," he whispered, before kissing the tender spot just before my ear, his warm touch making my skin tingle, "Christine, my darling Christine."

My heart swelled to hear his endearments, just as my body reacted to the feel of his mouth as he moved down the arch my throat, his hands warm on my shoulders.

Before I knew it his hands were at my back, unfastening my gown and as it fell to my waist, cold air rushed to meet the bare skin that was revealed. Only briefly did I wonder where he had become so adept before I became aware of Erik's molten gaze upon my body.

As he gazed down at me, I fought the urge to blush. Never had I cared what a man thought of me so much as I cared for Erik's opinion. "So beautiful," he breathed softly, before lowering his head to pick up the trail he left off, pressing warm kisses along my throat, my collar bone, and down to the very top of gently rising flesh.

My hands rested on his shoulders, taut in anticipation as I waited for his mouth to reach its inevitable goal.

I could feel his warm breath upon my breasts, and he began to tease me relentlessly, his mouth nipping and sucking until the heat in my belly coiled unmercifully, and my hands began to move, and finding all the layers that separated me from Erik, I groaned, "God, I want you Erik."

As perceptive as ever, he quickly understood my meaning and with a regretful look, he allowed me to rise, and followed me, swiftly unfastening his cloak and laying it on the ground.

His fingers were upon his cravat, and he looked like he was about to start undressing, but he paused as his eyes fastened upon me in my dimly lit state of undress.

"Christine, I would see all of you," he half requested, half demanded in a gravely voice.

At his request I felt strange flutters of nervousness in my stomach.

I had undressed for gentlemen many times before, but this was different, this was Erik. Unaccustomed shyness colored my cheeks, but I finished undoing my gown and stepped out the skirt. Then I proceeded to pull down my petticoats, my stockings and finally my bloomers.

I forced myself to stand proudly before him, even though my thoughts reminded me that I was not as perfect as I had been at sixteen.

"God you are exquisite," Erik practically growled, and I could see the passion flare even brighter in his golden eyes. He moved forward and kissed me again, his lips hot and urgent, his hands roaming all over my body.

Erik's breathing was coming quick and fast, and he pulled away from me ever so slightly to shrug off his coat, his hands moving to his cravat, but I stopped him, craving the privilege of undressing him.

"Here, let me."

My fingers pulled at his cravat, gently unknotting and removing it, kissing the bare skin it revealed. Then I turned my attention to his shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, pressing a kiss to his muscled chest after each succeeding button slipped out of its hole. I could feel him tremble beneath my mouth, and I felt a heady rush of power, I loved that I had this effect on Erik and the knowledge that he could easily turn the tables on me.

As my fingers reached the last button his shirt slid off, revealing his broad chest. I reveled in the strength and power of it, and I longed to explore its expanse, but my gaze was drawn downward to his erection straining within the confines of his pants and knew that I would have to save that for a another time.

My fingers reached for his pants, and I heard him draw in a quick breath. The buttons were released from their moorings and as Erik's pants fell to the floor releasing him.

I saw the flames of passion blazing in his eyes just before his head descended for mine, delivering a mind numbing kiss. His hands lowered to my bottom, grasped its curved roundness and pressing me against him.

Then Erik lifted me up, and simultaneously wrapped my legs around him, our mouths and tongues still moving together in a frenzy we fell together upon the cloak in a tangle of limbs.

Erik entered me suddenly, swift and true, and I moaned my pleasure. Soon our bodies found a rhythm and we rode upon the waves of our passion until we both erupted in mutual bliss.

Erik collapsed upon me, and I was happy to feel the weight of him laying upon me—in no hurry for him to leave me. But he knew he was heavy, and soon he drew out of me, rolling both of us over so that his form engulfed me in warmth.

And there we lay, our passion finally sated as it should have been in this very house so many years ago.

XXXXXxxxxXXXXX

(a/n)Ach, well there is my attempt at some lovin'. I hope you guys liked it::whisper: review . . . (a/n)


	17. A Stroll at the Park

Hello guys, props to my reviewers as usual, you guys are awesome!

Just wanted to tell you that I have it all planned out, to the very end, although I'm not sure how many chapters it will take, the plot is well in hand. Oh and I just bolded the character names to denote change of point of view this time.

I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

**Christine**

The lid of the coffin slid into place with a groan, once more sealing the letters into their morbid containment. I watched with satisfaction, this time they would not be disturbed.

Blowing out one branch of candles, Erik left them, taking up the other and holding out his hand, "Come Christine."

I gladly set my fingers into his and together we left the house, walked through the passage way, and up into the light.

The gentle glow of dawn was just beginning to warm up the day, and the sounds of the city awakening met our ears.

We were content to simply walk together through the streets, there were no cabs for hire, but I do not think either of us minded. I just wanted to be with him, and I hoped he felt the same way.

**Erik**

As I walked up to the house with Christine, I gloried in the simple pleasure of strolling through the streets together. Yet I must admit I wondered about the future. Where did our relationship go from here? I did not know what was expected, or what this development fully meant.

I wanted to ask Christine to marry me and be done with all this uncertainty, but my ever active insecurity gnawed away at me. Any sensible analysis would deduce that there was no doubt her answer would be yes. I only wished that I could communicate that to my heart.

I glanced tenderly down at her, her countenance was calm, almost angelic in its repose, and delightfully unruly curls framed her face. She was in fact rather dirty, wandering around in long disused cellars had that effect, but she looked heavenly to me.

We stealthily mounted the stairs to the townhouse, and I withdrew a key, slowly turning the lock.

Opening the door, I peered in, all was quiet. I stepped in and was followed closely by Christine.

I was just hanging up my cloak, when I heard a lowered voice from the top of the stair.

"It's nice of you to return, Christine you are absolutely filthy."

"Antoinette, I'm so sorry I didn't leave you a note, but I . . . ahh . . . had no time. I hoped you would understand that while I was with Erik I would be fine," Christine said conciliatorily

"I am certainly not one to panic, but there was no way I could know of your state of being. Please don't do this in the future."

She descended the steps until she could see the both of us, and I almost flinched under her discerning gaze.

"Well, I see that things have improved between the two of you, come Christine you'll have to be cleaned up before you can get between any sheets."

I almost protested as I saw her lead Christine away, we had not spoken of the night's last event and I hardly knew where we stood.

I supposed it was better this way, better to talk after both of us had gotten some sleep, with a sigh I climbed the stairs, washed, undressed and climbed into my lonely bed.

**Christine**

I woke to the feeling of soft breath on my face and slowly opened my eyelids to behold the bright face of my daughter.

"Mama, Aunt said I could wake you now. Whatever are you doing still in bed? I've never seen anyone sleep so late!" Belle emitted in one rushed breath, her eyes wide.

"Good morning darling, or is it afternoon? I am being dreadfully lazy today, but I had a very busy night. What have you been doing today?"

Belle's nose crinkled up as she replied, "Nothing very much, I wanted to explore the attics but Aunt wouldn't let me. I wish we had a garden like the one in England."

"I know there isn't very much to do here Belle, but we aren't living here for very long. Don't worry we shall find a house with a very nice garden for you. I know! How about we go to the park this afternoon? Would you like that?"

Belle's eyes lit up giving me all the answer I needed, and she bounced a bit on the bed, "Oh yes, that would be great fun! When will we go?"

I laughed, "I will need to get up and get dressed, eat a little something, and do a few things around that house, but after that we shall go. I promise!"

"Oh good, should I go tell Father?"

I wasn't at all sure Erik would wish to go, so I responded slowly, "No, I'll talk to him about it. Have you seen your Father today?"

As I felt my tongue roll over the word 'father' and felt a little rush of pleasure, never was that closer to being true.

"Oh yes, he went down to eat breakfast, but Aunt told me not to bother him so I didn't. I peeked my head around the corner and he was eating and reading the paper." She told me in momentous accents, as if she was making a great announcement.

"Oh, reading the paper . . ." I trailed off vaguely, waiting for enlightenment.

"I like that he reads the paper! Do you know why?"

"No, do tell me," I invited.

"Because all fathers read the paper at breakfast. It's a rule! It means he is a proper father!"

"Oh really? And where do these rules come from?"

"The girls at school."

"I see, well I'm glad you approve, now off with you. I must dress."

Belle scrambled off the bed, and trailed out the room a little dejectedly. I sighed. She really did need a garden to play in. She wasn't used to being cooped up in the house like this. My mind wandered as I washed and dressed, thinking of where we would move to. Erik and I really needed to discuss that. I wondered where he wanted to live. I myself would love to find a seaside village, not too far from a large town, but far enough away to feel like the country. How Belle would love the country! And the seaside! She would never run out of things to do there.

I sighed, enjoying the delightful feeling of unfettered dreams. For so long I had not allowed myself to really think my dreams might come true.

Oh, there were still difficulties be overcome, and I knew very well that often life held unpleasant little surprises, but my heart was filled with an overwhelming feeling of wellbeing today and I would not allow anything to spoil that.

I choose a yellow day dress to suit my sunny mood and descended the stairs on light steps.

**Erik**

I heard Christine enter the dining room, and as I lowered my paper she greeted me in a cheerful tone of voice, "Good afternoon, I have slept the day away."

She approached me, and I felt almost surreal watching her float towards me, a smile on her lips.

I managed a, "Good afternoon," as I regarded her, fascinated. Bending towards me she laid a gentle kiss on my lips, and I let out a sigh, before watching her as she floated from the room.

I could hardly believe that we were on such terms that she would kiss me good morning. For this was a good morning kiss, despite the late hour. It was strange to think that not one, but two people, had now granted me the right to such affection. As I touched my lips wonderingly I felt a fierce surge of protectiveness, nothing and no one, I thought, was going to take this away from me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Christine coming through the door behind me, and only the plate of food in her hands prevented me from grabbing her so I could show her _my_ affection.

She poured herself some tea from the pot on the tea tray already set in the middle of the table, and then asked me in a very wifely manner if I would like some more tea as well.

I folded up my newspaper, "No thank you my dear, I have been drinking my Russian tea."

"Oh yes," she said wrinkling her nose, and I laughed, she looked so much like a little girl at that moment, "I suppose I should learn to make that for you."

"That's quite alright, I'm not suddenly helpless you know."

"You just don't think I would make it well. Admit it!" she accused, an adorable smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm sure anything you make would taste wonderful my dear, I just don't see the need to put you to the extra trouble."

She regarded me with disbelieving eye, "Flatterer!"

"My dear, you wound me!" I declared, assuming a hurt look.

Christine erupted in what I could only describe as giggles, and I smiled, a warm feeling pervading my being at having made her laugh.

When she had collected herself, she buttered her toast, and applied herself to eating, pausing sometime later to say, "I promised Belle I would take her to the park this afternoon, the poor dear isn't used to being cooped up like this."

"That's a good idea. She'll enjoy that." I replied, only feeling a slight twinge of disappointment at inability to join them. I dismissed it quickly. I would only feel uncomfortable if I went, venturing out into public during the day was certainly not something I would do for pleasure.

Christine must have sensed my thoughts, because she said in a hesitant voice, "If you like . . ."

"No, don't worry yourself over me. I need to apply myself to making our arrangements."

"Well if you are sure. How will you start?"

"I believe that the best way to deal with this would be to hire a man of business. He can deal with the bank transfers, and invest your money safely, as well as searching for a house. Does that meet with your approval?"

She paused a moment, in thought, before replying, "That sounds like an excellent plan."

Then rising she picked up her plate, teacup and saucer, and bore them off to the kitchen.

**Christine**

After completing a few tasks, I hunted down Belle and found her in the parlor with Antoinette. She was lying on her stomach, leafing through a picture book that Erik had bought her after we arrived in Paris.

"Belle, are you ready to go to the park?"

She looked up, her brown curls tumbling over her face, her hair bow askew, "Oh yes."

"Put that up then, and come and put on your hat."

She jumped up and ran upstairs with the book, currently her most precious possession.

"Antoinette, would you like to come?" I asked, although I was sure she probably wanted a little break from Belle.

"No, you two go on," she replied calmly, returning to her sewing.

I went upstairs and both Belle and I prepared ourselves to go out, before sallying forth to greet the day. The weather seemed to fit my lighthearted mood, the sky blue, filled with little scurrying clouds, and the sun shining as brightly as it could in the city.

Belle and I chose to walk, and we traversed the streets hand in hand, Belle chattering the whole way there. When we came to the park she gave a little crow of delight, and tugged me along, eager to explore the green expanses of grass, dotted with trees, pathways, and benches.

Soon I found a well placed bench to sit on while I watched Belles explorations and antics, and settled down to enjoy the day.

I drifted off into my thoughts, my eyes wandering rather aimlessly over the scene in front of me, when I noticed a man leaning up against a tree a ways off. When I first saw him he was looking up, and I felt little shock, for he looked very much like Max. He lowered his head before I could get a better look, the brim of his hat obscuring his face, and I wondered if it could be Max. I had almost forgotten of his presence in Paris, and his strange intervention between Raoul and Erik. I frowned, I would need to mention this to Erik, hopefully it was nothing but we could not be too careful.

I felt uneasy, but determined that this would not spoil my day, and I directed my gaze back to Belle, smiling as I saw her making friends with a little dog, before it was called back to its master.

Some time later, Belle approached me panting, her hair a tangle, cheeks flushed, to announce that this part of the park was fully explored. I smiled, she was a mess, but I was glad to see some color in her face.

"Well would you like to walk a little more," I inquired indulgently.

"All right," Belle agreed, and she was off in front of me with a skip and a hop. I laughed and called to her, bringing her back to walk next to me.

The park was quite busy, and I noted with interest other little groups spread out, some most proper, and others loud and playful.

As I watched a particularly rambunctious group of young children, I felt a little sad that Belle had never had any brothers or sisters to play with. Of course now she was too old to have any siblings close to her age, having one nine years younger just wouldn't be the same. Suddenly I realized what I was thinking, and blushed self-consciously, glad that I was the only one privy to my thoughts.

I was brought out of my reflections by Belle's tugging hand, "Mama, I think that man is waving at you," she informed me loudly.

Who on earth? I looked up, and sure enough, at some distance there was Raoul, accompanied by a well dressed young lady.

I raised my hand in acknowledgement, and as we drew together I was rather dazzled by the young lady's beauty. She was dressed in an extravagant walking outfit of royal blue, lavishly trimmed with bows, feathers, and swatches of fabric, and sporting a very large bustle. The skirt drew up at the bottom just enough to reveal rather high walking shoes that charmingly showcased her ankles, while her hands were encased in frivolous net gloves. This startling outfit was crowned by a high hat, and my fascinated eye counted four or five feathers emerging from a sea of bows.

However, surprisingly the outfit seemed to suit this girl, for I began to realize that although she was not as beautiful as I had first thought, her features were striking, her best assets her full mouth and large blue eyes set off by soaring black eyebrows which matched the color of her beautifully coifed hair.

"Christine," Raoul said, "I am very glad to see you again. You look well."

"Indeed, I am very well," I replied warmly, "How are you doing?"

"I am also doing very well for myself, mostly because of this lady," he said gesturing to woman beside him, "Christine, allow me to present my betrothed to you, Miss Eustacie de Vauban."

"Nice to meet you Ms. De Vauban," I said with a smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well Christine! I hope it's all right if I call you Christine?" she asked, barely waiting for my answering nod, before continuing, "And you must call me Stacy! I will not be on formal terms with such an old friend of Raoul's. He has told me so much about you!"

"Has he?" I said faintly, wondering just how much he had said to this vivacious creature.

"Yes, and I consider you a friend all ready. Now who is this young lady at your side?"

"Oh forgive me! This is my daughter, Ms. Annabelle Carpentier, but you must call her Belle," I answered, mouthing a silent 'curtsey' at Belle.

She had had little time in company, but she performed her little curtsey quite well, and I smiled my approval at her.

"Very nice to meet you Belle," said Stacy, "I see that you are enjoying a promenade with your mother. Very fashionable!"

"A promenade," said Belle, sending an enquiring glance my way, "Why, what is that?"

"Oh it is when everybody turns out in their best clothes, and walks about greeting one another and showing off. Just look at me! I am trussed up like a peacock, am I not?"

"Well," said Belle, "You are wearing a lot of feathers."

Stacy, laughed, a tinkling sound, "Yes indeed I am! I am a vain creature and I do love my frills and furbelows."

I glanced up to see Raoul watching the interaction, an amused smile lurking at his lips, and a warm look in his eyes. I could sense his affection towards this Stacy, and was very pleased to see he had found someone to love. I could hardly have imagined a girl less like me though, especially when I was so young and naive.

Stacy turned to look at Raoul, saying laughingly, "Raoul and I always try to outdo one another. Don't we darling?"

He chuckled, his voice rather deeper than it used to be, "My dear, anyone will tell you it is no contest, how could I ever live up such finery?"

"Oh don't listen to him; he is quite as fine as I am in his own way. Well I will tell you this. He is much improved since I took him in hand, he used to quite careless of his appearance."

I must have raised my brows slightly at this comment, for Stacy responded immediately, "Oh I know you are thinking of his youth, but Raoul had thrown that over long ago, he soon saw that nothing would do for him but to ape the young bucks racing their carriages and always on the hunt for a new piece of game."

"Stacy . . ." Raoul said warningly with an eye on Belle.

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, "It's alright darling, there is no need to be ashamed, I know you were never a very good hunter."

Raoul laughed good humouredly, and I joined in, but I wondered at this new information. Had Raoul really been a part of such a set, gambling, drinking, and chasing after girls? I felt a sudden twinge of guilt. Had it been because of me?

We chatted on for a few minutes, Stacy's lively conversation making the time fly by, but I kept my eye on the sun, knowing that it would soon be Belle's dinnertime.

"This has been lovely, but I really must be going," I injected in a suitable lull in the conversation, no easy task with Stacy.

"Oh really? I'm so happy to have met you! We must meet up sometime! How about tea? Would you like to come to tea at my house tomorrow, Raoul shall come too and we can chat about the old times."

I had to admit I would like to have a talk with Raoul without Belle at my side, and I had enjoyed talking to Stacy, so I accepted and we said our goodbyes.

As we made our return walk I asked Belle what she thought of the couple.

"Oh the lady was very interesting, she talked an awful lot didn't she? And I didn't want to be rude Mama, but she really did look like a peacock! But she was very nice."

"I see, well you minded your manners well today, I am proud of you. What did you think about the gentleman?"

"Oh, he was nice I suppose, he didn't say very much, but he seemed to be laughing at the lady the entire time. Is that polite do you suppose?"

"Well," I said suppressing my smile, "He wasn't laughing at her, he was laughing with her when she told jokes."

"Oh, well . . . She did look about to fall over!" Belle exclaimed, reverting back to the subject of Stacy's dress.

"I am sure she is used to walking like that," I said, barely able to swallow my laugh.

Belle looked up at me for a moment, and then said, "You think she looked funny too! I know it Mama! I can see the smile in your eyes!"

"Well . . . only a little, but overall very pretty don't you think?"

"Yes, but I think you are much prettier, and you don't wear such stuff!"

"Why thank you darling!" I said, wondering what Belle would say if she was exposed to some of my more fashionable clothing which had yet to meet her eyes.

We soon reached the house, and I sent Belle upstairs to tidy up and wash, I was just going upstairs myself when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Erik in the parlor, looking like he had just come in.

Putting off my hat, and laying it on the hall table, I walked into the parlor.

"Hello," I said, before walking up and pressing a kiss on his lips, he folded me in his arms, deepening the kiss before pulling away regretfully.

I pulled him down onto the sofa, wrapping his arm around me and inquired after his day.

"Well I visited several firms, but I haven't decided if any of them will do yet. I'd like to find a man I can be sure to trust."

I saw that he looked rather tired, and I sighed inwardly, being about town was more tiring than Erik than for other people. I knew that the weight of the mask never left him.

I had a thought, "Perhaps I should ask Raoul for some advice on the matter . . ." I said, and knew immediately I had made a blunder.

"Raoul?" Erik questioned more than a little stiffly.

"Oh yes, we met Raoul and his betrothed today at the park. She was a charming girl, and Raoul looked thoroughly in love with her. She invited me to tea at her house tomorrow. Raoul will be there as well, so that's why I was thinking I could talk to him."

"I really don't think he is the person I would choose to trust with our affairs, but I am glad he has found a girl to love. Hopefully that should his hands off of you."

"Oh Erik, that was over long ago, you should know that. Besides it doesn't matter what Raoul thinks anyway, because _I_ am thoroughly in love with you."

His eyes softened at my words and our lips met for another kissed. We did not return to the matter, and I must admit I indulged in the hope that I had succeeded in quelling whatever fears Erik had harbored.

**XXXXXxxxxXXXXX**

(a/n)Okay guys, you know the drill!(a/n)


	18. The Eiffel Tower

Hey all! As usual, much love to my reviewers. What would I do withoutyou guys.

I am going to say that :clears throat nervously: we will have a fast update.

I better have one. I now have absolutely no reason not to, and yet I have before, so you are now allowed to flay me if I don't update quickly.

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**Christine**

"That color is simply ravishing on you! I can never wear anything pastel—it makes me look dreadfully washed out—but you could probably wear a sack and still look divine. I declare, I would give my best diamond necklace to have your complexion!" Stacy exclaimed as she advanced toward me, taking my hand in greeting, a vision in lavender and purple silk. "Do have a seat. We have so much talk about! I have simply been dying to have a chat with you."

I sat down, feeling quite bemused, but not because of Stacy's words. No, I was used to effusive society ladies, but their words were usually laced with spite not kindness.

Raoul, according the dictates of propriety, waited for Stacy to seat herself before following suit.

Once we were all suitably ensconced, I leaned forward, saying "I am curious to hear exactly what you know Stacy."

She laughed, "Those of the words of a woman who has much to tell."

Raoul spoke up then, "I've told her all I know Christine, she may chatter away but she can hold a confidence like none other."

Stacy turned to look at Raoul with an affectionate glance, "So I chatter do I?"

"I love your chattering," he replied lazily, "I enjoy watching you talk circles around every person you meet."

"Such a backhanded compliment sir! And to think some ladies find you charming. Well enough of that. Christine, Raoul told me of your most recent encounter and there are several points that have confused us exceedingly. If you care to tell us, we would love to hear the story behind that charming little rendezvous."

I took pause at her words, I had known they would be curious, but I had not yet decided how much to reveal. They already knew I had a child, that neither Erik nor Raoul was the father, and that I had been going by a different name. I hesitated, then launched into an apology.

"First I must ask you to forgive us. It should never have happened, and I am just as much to blame as . . ." I hesitated unsure of whether to give his first or last name. Should I reveal his last name?

"Erik? For that is what you called him, oh yes Raoul was very detailed. I insisted! And there is no need to apologize, Raoul can afford to be roughed up every now and again, it will keep him from getting indolent. Not to mention the fact that it gave me more excitement than I have had in years."

"Well . . , I hardly know how to start."

"There is one thing I particularly wanted to know first, if you don't mind."

"I make you no promises," I said with a little laugh, "but go ahead and ask."

"Raoul told me that the other man, not Erik, called you by a name other than Christine. But the first name escaped him, the last was, like your daughter's, Carpentier. He knew that Carpentier was a married name, but he was surprised to hear you had changed your Christian name." She stopped, looking at me expectantly.

Well, they knew I had come from London, and very little enquiry would uncover the only Carpentiers living in London were myself and a little old lady, the name was French and hardly common in England.

"He called me Madame Elise Carpentier," I divulged.

"Madame Elise Carpentier," Stacy repeated slowly, with a thoughtful frown, "I know I have heard . . .Oh!" she exclaimed with a little crow of delight, "Why I know who you are! That explains ever so much."

I could see Raoul's confusion, and he murmured, "Well perhaps someone would like to inform me . . ."

Stacy gave me mischievous look, and leaned forward saying conspiratorially, "Shall we tell him, or keep him in suspense?"

This was a moment I had anticipated with some dread; I knew that telling Raoul the whole could only cause him pain. I was sure he would think he should have done something.

Fortunately, at that moment, the maid entered bearing the tea tray, and I was allowed some time to think as Stacy poured the tea. After she had dismissed the maid, I started to speak again.

"I think we had better tell him," I said, I was tired of hiding secrets and now that I had told Erik it seemed to much easier to tell another. Despite the gap in years I found I trusted Raoul, and, surprisingly enough, Stacy as well. Raoul had been mature enough to let me go in the past and I felt like he would respect my wishes now. "I will start at the beginning, but first Raoul, let me say that you should not feel responsible for anything that happened, I made my own choices and you were only respecting my wishes."

With those words I launched into my story, I told the truth yet I must admit I omitted as many of the lurid details as possible. The bare bones of my story were more than enough to burden them with.

When I was finished, I leaned back with a little sigh saying, "So now you see us here is Paris, making plans for the future."

Stacy leaned forward immediately, and took my hand saying, "Oh you poor dear! I admire you now more than ever, and I would love to meet Erik."

I would probably have resented those words coming from most people, but Stacy seemed to possess an ability to make you feel as if she had endured every moment of every trial with you. As to meeting Erik, I was almost sure he would not want to, and I replied hesitantly, "Well . . ."

She sensed my doubt, for immediately she said, "Oh don't worry about it, and if you need any help don't hesitate to ask. Isn't that right dear?"

Raoul had been staring off into space in a rather abstracted manner, but upon Stacy's words he started a little, and replied, "What? Oh yes, we are more than happy to be of help. In fact I would appreciate it if you would allow me to help you Christine. What arrangements do you need to make? If you are looking find a new house, to hire staff, or any other multitude of things I would like to offer you the services of my man of business and my secretary. They are more than used to making such arrangements for my family."

My immediate reaction was one of relief, but it was brief; Erik had not appreciated the suggestion that we ask Raoul for advice and was certain that he would not want to be beholden to Raoul.

"Thank you so much for the offer Raoul, but I will need to discuss this with Erik. If we decide to accept your help I'll contact you." I did not say that Erik would be the one to object, but I could tell he sensed it, and I saw uncertainty in his eyes.

"Christine," he started slowly, "Are you absolutely sure . . ."

I interrupted him before he could go any further, knowingly full well he was going to express doubts about Erik, "I am more sure of this than any other decision I have ever made."

He leaned back, and although I knew he was not entirely convinced, said, "Just know that you can always come to me for help."

I renewed my thanks, and then turned to glance at the Stacy, who had been surprisingly silent during this exchange and saw that she was regarding us with the air of an approving monarch. I felt a gurgle of laughter rise in my throat at the thought, and with my amusement the serious air in the room changed. We chatted on various subjects before I departed for the house, eager to see my family.

**

* * *

**

**Christine**

I awoke like clockwork as I did every morning, and as I gained consciousness, a frown came to my lips as I remembered the night before.

I had lured Erik to my bedroom last night, yes lured, for there really no other way to say it. I had sensed in him a growing uncertainty, almost as if now that he had begun he was unsure how to continue. I wanted to quickly vanquish such feelings on his part.

It had not taken long for any remnant of hesitation to leave Erik and all had been going very well when we had heard Belle's cry.

Knowing she was probably suffering from a nightmare I had gone quickly to comfort her, stroking her hair until she fell asleep again. When I had returned Erik was gone, and this is the point at which I had not known what to do. I had thought about seeking him out, but I also wished to respect his distance. I sighed. This would be easier when we were settled somewhere.

**

* * *

Erik**

I moodily paced in my room, feeling unbearably confined, I wanted to vent my frustration somehow, to do something unleash my restlessness. My eye glanced over my violin case, the only instrument available to me, but I rejected it. I did not feel like broadcasting my feelings for the entire house to hear.

I was frustrated, mostly by myself. I didn't know what had overcome me last night, I felt like such a coward. For some reason when Christine had left the room to comfort Belle I had been overwhelmed by my doubts. I didn't know how long it would take to soothe Belle and I had felt awkward standing around waiting for her to return. I felt even more awkward about getting into her bed. I knew it was usual, but my mind had balked at the idea. I had never shared a bed with anyone, and I couldn't bring myself to calmly climb in between the sheets like I had done so every night for years. So I had left.

Damn coward that I was.

I could tell that Christine had been puzzled by my attitude this morning, and I, conscious of a slight strain between us, had been unable to deal with it. I was simply unused to living with people.

I dragged a hand through my hair, I would just have to learn, I _wanted_ to learn.

I could hear their voices even now, they were about to embark on a shopping trip to replenish Belle's wardrobe. Evidently all her clothes were too small for her. I hadn't noticed.

I eyed my violin, in just a few minutes I thought, I will have the house to myself and then I will play until my fingers are sore.

I heard a tentative knock at the door, and I strode forward and opened it revealing Christine. She was dressed in what was considered, I had learned by now, going out clothing. She looked beautiful in anything to me.

Her eyes raised to mine, a curious look in them, "I just wanted to tell you we're going now. We'll be back in time to make supper, don't worry."

"I hope you enjoy yourselves," I replied.

"Well, I'll see you later then," she said, seemed to hesitate for a few moments before turning and leaving.

As I closed the door I felt vaguely dissatisfied and then I realized she had not kissed me goodbye. In just a couple of days I had grown used to the sign of affection. She had, however waited for a moment. Had she wanted me to kiss her? She probably had. I groaned. This business was so damned difficult.

Downstairs I heard the door close, then silence, and I turned with relief to my violin case. I extracted the intrument gently and was prepared to start playing when I heard a knock on the door.

Irritated, I placed the violin on the bed, before starting downstairs, muttering curses the entire way. Before I could reach the door, a louder knock sounded, increasing my irritation.

As I result when I opened the door, I probably had a ferocious glare plastered on my face, sadly it met no audience. I stared out at the empty air, before the words, "Excuse me mister," met my ears.

I looked down to see a small, grimy boy standing on the steps, offering me a sealed note.

"Yes?" I said, a little more curtly than I had intended, but my tone didn't seem to affect the boy.

"I'm supposed to deliver this here letter,"

"Thank you," I said, taking the letter from him.

"A little something for my trouble?" the boy whined plaintively.

I eyed him darkly; no doubt he had already been paid to deliver it, but I went to the hall table and withdrew a few coins. As I was walking back to the boy I saw that it was directed to Christine in a bold slashing script.

Who was writing to Christine in Paris? This handwriting looked like it belonged to a man.

When I reached the boy, I held the money back from him a moment, "May I ask who gave you this?"

"I don't know his name mister."

So it was a him. "What does he look like then?"

"He was a gentleman, had long yellow hair, he did."

I frowned, pressing the money into the boy's hand. That sounded suspiciously like Raoul.

I shut the door after the boy and then stood there for a moment, staring at the note in my hand, I wanted to read it very badly. It was probably nothing, just a little polite note about tea the day before. I was being foolish.

I laid the note on the hall table and resolutely turned to walk up the stairs.

I made it about half way up the stairs, when I suddenly turned and walked down again. I took up the letter and retreated to the parlor where I held the letter up to the light. I stared at it, turning it this way and that, making out a few innocuous phrases. Then I caught the word "love."

I growled, he had no right even thinking those four letters in any way connected to Christine.

I had to see it.

Abruptly I broke the seal, walking away from the light.

_Dearest Christine,_

She wasn't his dearest anything, I thought furiously.

_I am eager to see you again. It was so good to talk with you today. You have no idea how much I enjoyed our conversation. As always, I love just being able to hear the sound of your voice. You have bloomed into a beautiful woman. When can I see you again? I impatiently await your reply._

_Yours Forever,_

_Raoul_

By the end of the short missive I was breathing heavily. She had seen him today? She couldn't have . . . but then I remembered. She had gone out to the market this morning alone.

I groaned. I could feel the familiar fatal anger creeping over me, and I pressed it back. I had to think rationally. Christine wouldn't betray me in this manner. _She has before_. It must be for some other reason.

I cast my mind about wildly. Then I recalled that Christine had wanted to ask Raoul for advice. Perhaps that's exactly what she had done, behind my back, and the _insolent_ boy had tried to press his advantage.

Even this scenario was not good. But I could not, would not believe that Christine was betraying my love. She had given herself to me, dammit, had caressed my naked cheek. _She's probably performed perversions before_. No, she couldn't do that, she came back to me before, she wanted me now. I _had_ to believe it.

Even as I thought on the other scenario my anger grew. I felt all my old hate for that boy surface, and I was deeply wounded that Christine should consider me unfit to arrange our business and should instead turn to _him_.

I had thought we were done with lies and deceit. _And yet you opened her letter_. What should I do? Should I confront her? No, I would wait, not long, to see if she said anything and then if she didn't I would confront her.

Perhaps she would yet tell me about, I thought, attempting to be calm.

I looked down at the letter my hand then, disturbed to see that I had crumpled it into a tight wad. How would I explain this to Christine? There was no need for her to see it anyway, I thought darkly, she could do without the boy's honeyed words.

I strode to the kitchen, lighted a candle, and held the paper up to the flame, watching it crumple to ashes.

As it burned, I contemplated the night ahead of me, we had planned a delightful little family outing. Christine had persuaded me just that this morning to go on a trip to the Eiffel Tower, in order to look over Paris at night.

I had only assented because I knew Belle would enjoy it. Now it seemed she would be the only one enjoying her night.

**

* * *

Erik**

Belle was incredibly excited to be going out at night, and as she prattled on in the carriage I focused on her. If I looked at Christine, talked to her, I knew I would be driven out my mind. Either I would say something I would regret, or my own thoughts would overwhelm me.

I carefully informed Belle about the Eiffel Tower. She could not be allowed to mistake the monstrosity for true art.

"Now listen Belle, the Eiffel Tower's design was not chosen by men of good taste. Many architects were against it being built. Do you know what an architect is?"

She wrinkled her brow in thought, "Arki-tect . . . no, I don't know. What is it?"

"A person who knows how to build things, such as houses, railway stations, theatres and all sorts of other buildings. Not only do they know how to make buildings, but they know how make beautiful buildings. Sometimes a man thinks he is an architect and builds a building that is very ugly, but he is not a real architect. Mr. Eiffel is like that. Many real architects did not want him to build the tower; a good friend of mine was one of those people. Unfortunately Belle you will learn that the world is not made up of smart people; many times the vast majority of people are very foolish because they lack understanding. So the tower was built after all. We can go look at it as an example of what happens when foolish people make decisions."

Belle nodded her little, her eyes wide. Clearly the child was intelligent.

At that moment we rolled to a stop, and Belle scrambled out of the carriage before me. As a gentleman I waited for all the ladies to disembark before climbing out. The moment my feet hit the ground I heard Belle exclaim in an awestruck voice:

"Oh! How beautiful!"

I heard Christine's low chuckle, and instinctively turned look at her, my eyes full of fellow laughter, "Just wait until she sees it during daylight," I muttered, "She won't think it so pretty then."

At Christine's answering laugh I was suddenly reminded that this woman was hiding something from me and abruptly turned away, walking to catch up with Belle.

**

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**

**Christine**

I watched Erik walk away, the dancing colored lights of the Eiffel Tower a blur before my eyes. Why was he suddenly acting like this? He had been ignoring me all day, ever since I returned from the shopping expedition, or had it begun earlier in the day? Or even the night before? I bit my lip. Just now we had been laughing together when Erik's eyes had abruptly grown cold, his features hard. I didn't understand.

"Come Christine, we need to catch up with them." Antoinette said, interrupting my thoughts, and as we walked together I wondered what she thought, but I was not ready to ask her. Perhaps I was just imagining the trouble.

However, as the night progressed, Erik's coldness did not abate. He barely spoke two words to me, and when he did his tone was curt, his face hard.

He was a perfect companion to Belle, talking animatedly with her as we rode the delightfully novel elevator to the top of the tower and gazed out on Paris. The lights of the city held no pleasure for me however, as I worried about Erik's behavior. I made small talk with Antoinette and watched the two of them, my puzzled gaze growing increasingly envious.

It was idiotic of me, but I found myself jealous of my own small daughter.

This would never do.

Yet I had not found a way to solve my problem. Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day.

**

* * *

Max**

I was drunk. I had not had alcohol in a week, but I was drunk—drunk with my lust for revenge.

I had been watching them, that pair that had brought about my brother's death.

I was prepared to spare Elise, or rather Christine; it had not been her hand that strangled the life out of Reggie. However, I didn't mind wreaking emotional havoc upon her.

I chuckled mirthlessly to myself. It was ridiculous really. My plan could never have worked if the man, Erik, had not been too jealous to give Christine the letter. After seeing his mad jealousy towards the other man, whom I had discovered to be the Vicomte de Chagny, I had known he would not do so.

My plan was set in motion and my blood was filled with intoxication as I thought about my future satisfaction.

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With this site's new format I was able to use some nifty spacers . . . or maybe I just didn't notice them before. hums R&R


	19. Parlor Talks: Erik's Many Moods

Hello my dear readers, I'm actually updating pretty early so I shall do some much needed review responses. Mostly to new readers, but don't think I don't appreciate all you old reviewers as well, I love hearing from all of you.

Uhh, but first, a brief public service announcement, this chapter is **MATURE, **although not as mature as the other. My muse must be obeyed :grin:

**Obsession is Love**: Welcome! I love that you stayed up until 6:30 in the morning reading this. Defying sleep is a great compliment! No complaints, awesome! I'm glad you like my characterizations.

**TheLizzy**: Welcome as well. I'm glad you appreciate my Kay usage, gotta love the woman, I am now without a copy though, sadness. As to Belle, she actually isn't because of one little lady but rather because of many little ladies. I have worked with children a lot you see. She is more the child of my mind. Her fascination with faeries etc. reflects my childhood reading, Enid Blyton and excellent English author. As to the Raoul line, I was rather proud of that one, thank you very much!

**LiltingBanshee**: Welcome to you as well! I'm glad you like strong Christine, I wanted a background that would give her all the spine she couldn't have when she was sixteen.

**Fishtoes**: You are so complimentary! It gives me warm fuzzies. I love all your comments. As to Raoul, I've rather fallen in love with my Raoul, of course that's cause he is mine. I don't know if you people remember, but I rather loved Reggie as well, that utter scoundrel. And the sex, well I know people don't always come together, but it's a story and well it would be awkward for me to try and make it awkward. I rather think I need more experience first. Also it might have seemed more awkward if you had seen the original full encounter. coughatAriacough Anyways, thanks again.

**Kaiba-queen: **Welcome to you as well!

**Riku Ree**: Better . . .

**Phruity: **Your review made me so happy. The compliments just kept on coming! I reread it too, I love that you love it.

**Fingolfia**: Your review cracked me up. LOL. It was awesome. Glad its not boring anymore. Hehe. See how you like this chapter miss. :grin:

On that note, ON TO THE CHAPTER!

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**Erik**

"Erik, I must speak with you," Antoinette said calmly upon discovering me in the parlor.

"Yes," I replied curtly, I was in a foul humor, the last few days had put a serious strain on my feeble relational skills.

"You have been acting rather strangely in the last couple of days."

"Really? You mean something different my usual strangeness. How interesting." I responded rather flippantly, in no mood to be manhandled by Antoinette.

At my words her lips thinned, and she turned a set of remarkably disapproving eyes on my face. I tried to appear nonchalant, but I must admit that I was not impervious to her disapproval. I felt some of my bravado fade away.

"Since I can see no reason for your actions, I must assume that it's simply a reaction to living with people."

She paused a moment, as if daring me to reply. I waited for her to continue, wearing an air of exaggerated interest, "However, I really do not think that is case; you appear to me to think you have been wounded in some way. Since with you the possibilities are endless I ask you to do us all a favor and speak to Christine about the issue." I almost winced under her acerbic words, if I hadn't felt wounded before I certainly would now, I thought indignantly.

Antoinette continued, her tone softened, "Unless you tell her what is wrong, you can never fix the problem."

I felt a rush of irritation; she needed to talk to me, not the other way around.

My lips curled upwards in a sneer, and I replied sardonically, "Thank you so much for your advice Antoinette. I shall store your wise words away for a time when I actually want them."

"Don't be an ass, Erik."

I watched Antoinette's receding figure with something akin to amazement. Had she actually just told me not be an _ass_? Unbidden I felt a real smile come to my lips; the woman never ceased to amaze me.

I threw myself onto a sofa; not only was this issue about Christine plaguing me, but the plans for our future were quite _unsatisfying_. I needed to speak with Christine about it, but that would require a conversation. It had been two days since the abominable letter had come to my hand, and I had hardly spoken to her since. I couldn't help but wonder if the two had had further contact.

At that moment, I felt, rather than heard, another presence in the room and looked up with a scowl.

At the sight of Belle's slight figure, however, I forced my expression to soften. I would not take out my anger on her.

She looked an angel in a light blue dress, her skirts floating about her, a large sash tied at her waist, and her hair pulled half back with a perfectly tied blue bow. Curious brown eyes looked out at me from thick lashes, and she asked "Is something wrong Father?"

Belle had never called me anything but father since she had been told she could do so. I found the word remarkably soothing.

"Nothing to worry about," I replied, "Now what is this you are wearing? Is it some your new finery?"

Her face lit up at my question, she definitely had a very feminine appreciation of clothing, "Oh yes! Do you like it?" she asked, twirling round twice, raising her hands above her head.

Abruptly my mind flew back in time—another little girl in a gauzy light blue tutu twirling and jumping. This girl had been older, but the two looked so much alike that it made my breath catch in my throat.

"Very pretty," I said with effort.

I missed Christine. Maybe I should speak to her about the letter after all. I didn't want this estrangement between us, not now after we had been through so much.

I felt Belle climb up on the couch beside me and I pulled her close, luxuriating in the comfort holding a child can provide. She laid her head against my chest with a little sigh, and started playing with the buttons on my coat.

We lay there for a minute just like that, before I heard Belle's soft voice, "Father . . ."

"Yes Belle?" I said, feeling a premonition tickle along my spine.

"Why does your face look like that?"

I almost laughed, despite the gravity of the situation, how like a child to believe that this was, in fact, my face, rather than believe I was covering something up.

"Belle this is not actually my face . . . its something I use to cover my face," I said using my free arm to gesture to the mask.

"Oh . . ." she said, her brow knitting in thought, "Why would you want to cover your face?"

"Well," I said, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the nervous knots in my stomach, "I don't like this side of my face at all, and neither did my mother, so I covered it up."

She looked at me again, as if trying to process this information, then her face brightened, "Your mother covered it up? Like a bandage? Is it a scrape then? Look I have a great big scrape on my elbow," she declared sitting up and twisting her arm around in various awkward positions until she could see the wound.

When she found it she thrust it up in my face, "Look, isn't that a nice scab? I want to pull it off so bad, but Momma says it's not lady-like."

"Does that keep you from doing it?" I asked, amused and more than happy to change the subject.

"No, not really. I was going to anyway, but Aunt told me that if I did it would get infected, and turn green, and rot, and make my arm fall off. I don't want _that_ to happen!"

"A horrible fate indeed," I replied, "You are a very wise young lady to exercise such restraint."

"What does restraint mean?"

"When you don't do something that you want to do very much."

"Oh, well then you must be very very wise and exercise a whole bunch of restraint," she said, pulling the strange words out slowly on her tongue and looking adorably proud for having said them, "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because you haven't taken that bandage off for a very very long time. If your mother put it on it must be really old."

"Well I suppose it's pretty old. How old do you think I am Belle?"

"Ummm . . . eighty-eight!"

"I'm not that old!"

"Twenty?"

"Or that young. I'm older than your mother and younger than your Aunt, that's all I'm going to tell you."

"That's okay . . . I'd rather see your face."

"Well I don't know about that Belle."

She regarded me solemnly for a few moments and then said, "If it's like a bandage it'll get better some day. Right? Then you can take it off."

I sighed, Belle's innocent words held more meaning than she realized, "It's not the sort of thing that gets better Belle, my face will always be like this. I'll always have to wear this mask, that's what it is . . . a mask."

"But can you take it off sometimes? Not for long . . . just to ummm give it some air." Belle asked, obviously drawing on her knowledge of cuts and bandages. "If you could, then maybe one day you could show it to me."

"Maybe I will show it to you someday Belle, but not right now, you'll just have to wait."

"How about at Christmas? I have to wait at Christmas a lot."

I almost winced, I couldn't imagine a less fitting holiday, Holloween would be far more appropriate.

"Yes, well, its like you have to wait for Christmas, but I'm afraid I can't make any promises."

"Ah, we'll see." Belle said, drawing out the words in what I surmised to be her "grown up" voice.

"Yes, we'll see you little imp."

She giggled at this, and replied, "I am not an imp! Imps are nasty little black creatures that create lots of mischief."

"Oh? And how do you know this?"

"I saw one," she said, in the voice she used to convey secrets, "It stole my hair ribbon, which is why I couldn't find it when Momma asked."

"I see, imps are terrible little creatures. Should we set traps for them?"

"Oh no!" she replied, shaking her curls vigorously, "You could never catch an imp! They are far too clever for that."

"Ah, but I am also very clever. I venture to believe that I could outwit the imps."

She giggled again, replying "Yes, Father" in the manner of one humoring a madman.

"Will you tell me a story?" she then asked, and I settled down to the surprisingly soothing occupation of fabricating tall tales.

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**Christine**

I walked down the stairs, a feeling of discontent settled in the pit of my stomach. Erik's behavior had been driving me crazy, like a puzzle I repeatedly failed to solve. I hated _this_ . . . whatever this was, and I wanted to be done with it!

I paused halfway down the staircase, at this angle I could see directly down and into the parlor, and what I saw there evoked a terribly bitter sweet feeling in me.

Erik and Belle sat together on the couch, her powder blue gown a sharp contrast to his black suit as she nestled next to him. Her curly head rested against his chest, and one of his arms wrapped around her, his fingers absentmindedly stroking her hair. I could just faintly hear his voice, like a hum, but I could imagined he was telling her a story and her eyelids were drooping in response to the soothing quality of that mesmerizing sound.

I loved it and hated it at the same time.

My heart warmed to the sight of my daughter and the man I loved sharing such a moment, but at the same time I felt excluded from the picture. Erik was only cold towards me, towards Belle he was warm and loving, and I felt envious of Belle in a way that made my spirits drop even further. Not only was I envious, but I felt guilty about feeling that way.

I needed to talk to Erik; I would just have to ask him what was wrong later today. Why did my heart shrink a little at the thought? You are not the scared little girl you once were, I told myself sternly, stop cowering and speak to the man!

An hour or so later, I marshaled my forces and went up to his room to confront him. Belle had been summoned to the kitchen to help Antoinette cook dinner, so I knew we would not be interrupted for a little while. I stood in front of the door, just staring at the woodwork, attempting to fortify my spirits.

I was very firmly raising my arm to knock when I was abruptly taken out of my suspense by the door opening.

Erik stood there, towering above me as always, divested of his coat, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat. My mouth went dry.

"Christine?" he said, a question clear in his voice, and I realized that I must have been gawking; however, I took heart in the fact that his tone seemed warmer than it had been.

"I need to speak with you Erik," I said, "May I, ah, come in?"

I thought I saw a flicker of something like relief in his eyes, and he stepped back, gesturing for me to enter.

I walked in, and turned, twisting my fingers as I waited for Erik to close the door and look at me.

"What do you want to tell me Christine?" he asked, his face watchful but not uninviting.

"Well, I just think that in the past few days I have felt a certain amount of reserve from you . . . that's unusual," I said slowly, "I just wanted to say that if something is wrong I wish you would tell me."

I looked up at him through my lashes to see his reaction. It was not encouraging. He folded his arms across his chest upon my words, his face seeming to harden.

"Christine why don't _you_ tell me what is wrong," he replied, his tone taking on the sardonic quality I hated so much.

What did he think I knew? Did he think I had done something?

"Me? Erik, I don't know what you are talking about! What is it that you think I know?"

"Madam, there is no need for this pretence, I suggest you just admit to your subterfuge and be done with it," he said with a sneer.

I could feel my surprise being replaced by a steadily increasing anger, I didn't deserve this! "Subterfuge! It is not I who speaks in riddles! Speak plain Erik, I wish to know what nonsense you have dreamed up now."

"I haven't dreamed up anything—it is already quite plain. God, I should have known you hadn't changed; you can't teach an old dog new tricks. You are still playing the same childish games with the same boy."

I gasped, did he just compare me to a dog? "You are impossible! I'm not the one playing games you are! How can you expect me to admit to something when I have no idea what you are talking about?" I bit out at him, my voice rising on every word.

Erik's eyes narrowed, and he unfolded his arms, beginning to advance toward me, I must admit I felt some qualms, but I held my ground, "It must be more serious than I thought if you persist on denying it. Have you renewed your eternal vows of love? Perhaps you find the lure of a title too much to resist after all?"

Fury welled up in me, and I felt my hand shoot out before I even knew my own intent, it was stalled in its path by Erik's tight grip.

"I wouldn't suggest you do that, I might be angry if you ruined the one good side of my face."

"Damn you," I said in a low voice, "Erik I can't believe you are acting like this. After all we've gone through; after all we've said to each other."

"I can't believe that you would conspire . . . tryst with that boy when you know how I feel about him," he growled back at me.

"Tryst? You think I'm trysting with Raoul?" I was so flabbergasted that I found myself stuttering, "You . . .you . . . bastard!" I finished, in a flash of brilliance.

"I am many things Madam, but a bastard is not one of them . . . even if my mother thought I was demon spawn," he replied with a brittle laugh. "I was willing to think you mostly innocent, that you had good intentions, but now you force me to think otherwise . . ."

"How generous of you! Now maybe you would extend your generosity and gift me with just what you base these ridiculous accusations on!" I took a deep breath, anger still throbbing through my veins, "Or maybe I should go ask Raoul, since you are determined to be utterly impossible."

If I had had time to reflect, I would have realized that this was not a wise move.

"You will _never_ see that damned boy again!" he snarled.

"I can do as I please Erik. I am a grown woman and you have no hold over me!"

"I don't? I seem to have a very firm hold on you at the moment," he taunted, his fingers tightening about my wrist, his other arm snaking around to grasp my waist.

Ever wise, I replied, " 'moment' being the operative word."

His eyes darkened, and began slowly backing me up to a wall, biting words out as he moved, "Not this time, I'm afraid you've sold your soul to devil now and there is no turning back."

"You insist on making yourself out to be . . ." I was spiritedly replying, when he hissed, "You're mine," lowering his head to mine in a bruising kiss.

Still caught up in the flames of my anger I protested, refusing to open my lips and pushing at him with my free hand. With a growl he grabbed both my wrists and pinned them above my head, continuing the brutal pressure of his mouth, his tongue seeking entrance, but I held my lips tightly pressed together in stubborn revolt. Suddenly he nipped my bottom lip gently with his teeth, and I gave a little gasp. In a flash his tongue darted inside my mouth, plundering, possessing.

Heat rose up in my body unbidden and I gave a little moan, inwardly furious at myself, I couldn't believe that he had such control over me. I, who had made a career out of this! In response to me he softened his kiss, coaxing now, drawing my reluctant participation, and I pushed my own tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss.

Sensing my capitulation, he released my wrists, bringing his hands down to my waist, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, craving him more deeply than I thought possible—even a few days ago. I pushed one hand into his hair, holding his head even closer to mine, wanting him, all of him.

I felt his hands roving over my body, and I was frustrated by layers of clothing between us. I moaned low in my throat, and I felt him pull away his hands searching for the bottom of my skirts, "God I need you Erik," I muttered, my words seeming to drive him on, my skirts now pushed up, his hand searching for the slit in my drawers.

Eager to hurry the process, my hands went to his pants, years of practice helping find just the right buttons to release his erection. Then I felt his fingers inside me, testing my readiness, and I gave a low moan of approval urging him on.

He needed no further encouragement; he positioned himself, before filling me with one swift thrust. I tightened my arms around him, pulling my legs up around his waist with his assistance, and then he was filling me over and over again, filling me with quick upward thrusts, his hands on my hips bringing me down on him.

I was lost in a world of sensation, desperately searching for the release only he could give me, barely conscious enough of reality to muffle my sounds of pleasure. Our hips churned faster and faster, and I dug my nails into the linen on his back as he plunged into me again and again. I could feel the storm inside me quicken, swirling higher and higher, straining to be set free.

He lunged inside again, frenzied now, frantic for the relief we were both reaching for, and again, before his shuddered his own release, flooding my womb with warmth and in response waves of pleasure flooded through my body, as if they were bursting through a dam.

We held onto each other, still feeling the tremors of our passion before he withdrew, and I looked up into his eyes to see a surprisingly dark look in them.

I put my hand up to his cheek, stroking it gently, inviting him to speak.

"This should never have happened."

I frowned, "Erik . . ."

"I never meant . . .God I have no control," he said, in a tone of self loathing.

"Did I look particularly in control to you?" I retorted, still leaning rather weakly against the wall. "Erik I wish you could tell me why you think I betrayed in some way?"

He seemed to fight some inner struggle, and then said, "It was a letter from that boy, speaking of a previous meeting between you just you two. Let's just say he was very affectionate."

My brow furrowed. Could it refer to tea? But no, Erik had said between just Raoul and me. "Erik believe me there never was such a meeting. I swear it! Do you have this letter?"

"No I don't . . . it was . . .ruined."

We definitely needed to speak about how he had read this letter and how it had been _ruined_ but for now I just wanted him to believe me.

"Erik, believe me. Please?"

"Christine, I want to believe you but then where . . ?"

He left the sentence unfinished, but I knew he was referring to the origins of the letter. He gave a sigh, turning from me to redress himself. I watched him wash his hands, and fully clothe himself, hoping he was thinking through things while he worked. As he finished I started, "Erik . . ." but he did not allow me to continue.

"Christine, I don't know what to think, I'm going out," he said opening the door, his voice sounding more frustrated than anything.

He walked out the door, and a few seconds later I followed, stopping at the top of the stairs, my eyes following his dark figure out of the front door as he disappeared into the night.

"Well, I suppose he won't be joining us for dinner," I heard in Antoinette's stringent tones.

I looked down to see her standing in the hall, glancing up she met my eyes saying, "You better come down now, the food will be getting cold."

I could only be glad she had spared me her sarcasm as I went to my room to wash up.

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Max**

I saw Erik stride quickly out the doorway, the streetlight illuminating the expression on the visible side of his face. He didn't look too happy.

_Looks like all is not well between Erik and Christine_ I thought with satisfaction—time to launch the next and final stage of the plan.

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Okay so the last talk was in the bedroom . . . whatever. :singsong voice: Review, review. 


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